


Quercus coccinea: A Guide to Nurturing Love Under Your Scarlet Oak

by Elasmosaurus, Rainbow_Volcano



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Developing Relationship, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Positions in the ANs, Post-Time Skip, Pre-Time Skip, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and some toothpaste
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-29 00:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30148080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elasmosaurus/pseuds/Elasmosaurus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbow_Volcano/pseuds/Rainbow_Volcano
Summary: On the 14th of the Pegasus Moon, 1181, Ferdinand von Aegir finds himself lamenting the fact that he does not have anyone to participate in the traditions of the Pegasus Celebration with. A cruel twist of fate sees him run into the vexing Hubert von Vestra on this special day and he resolves to try and fix their quarrelling. For the good of the Empire. Hubert gravely misunderstands the situation.This is the story of the developing relationship between Hubert and Ferdinand over the war years, told during the Pegasus Celebrations they spend together.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 26
Kudos: 38





	1. 1181: A Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> Rainbow: We may have gone a bit insane. But that's okay, I enjoyed every minute of it. I hope you all enjoy it too! Please have way too many words of the dumbest idiots being in love. This was so much fun to write, and working with these amazing creators has been absolutely incredible
> 
> El: Our first brainstorming session definitely snowballed and I wouldn't have it any other way. Group chats have been so much fun and I couldn't have asked for better partners. Y'all are so talented and have been a blast to work with. I'm super excited to be releasing this into the world, hope you enjoy!  
> Also massive round of applause for [Gladdy](https://twitter.com/gladdybug) for all the art to follow.
> 
> Now with embedded art!
> 
> Promo post [here](https://twitter.com/Elasmosaurus11/status/1373080438189752325?s=20) with upcoming chapter names

The Pegasus Moon strikes Fodlan mercilessly, like a swift lance of frigid wind. During this icy winter moon, families and friends often huddled together by fireplaces or gave small tokens of gratitude. Over time, on the 14th of the month, it became a day where couples displayed to one another the warmth of their love and the commitment to their futures: The Pegasus Celebration.

Ferdinand has read his fair share of Pegasus Celebration stories, each one sweepingly romantic and poetic. Stories of whittling spoons together and gifting them to your lover, stories of announcing your eternal love from atop a flying steed. And, Ferdinand's favorite: planting a scarlet oak tree together. The hidden roots symbolize the underlying feelings that are not always expressed, the strong oak wood represents a sturdy support system, and the deep red of the leaves symbolize passionate love. Ferdinand's favorite tales all had the couple planting a tree together, and the tradition is just about the most romantic thing he can imagine.

He has never had a lover to share the traditions with, and though there are far more important things to consider this year, a part of him is a bit disappointed. Not as much as Dorothea, who crones out her dismay in their classroom after daily lessons.

“It's just not fair,” she whines overdramatically. “I want someone who would whittle a spoon with me or announce their love from atop a pegasus.”

Mercedes chuckles. “There, there, Thea. I'm sure it's just a matter of time.”

Dorothea looks up with her eyes, but keeps her head still, chin jutting into the wood. “Thanks, Mercie. But it still makes me angry at that visiting gardener. Flaunting scarlet oak tree saplings. Who does he think he is?” Dorothea leans her cheek against her desk, and looks towards the unoccupied desk at the front of the room. Edelgard’s.

Mercedes brings a hand up to her cheek in thought. “You know, if you have someone in mind, you can just ask her. I'm sure she'd say yes!”

Dorothea sighs. “Edie's been so busy lately...I couldn't ask her. Besides, I don't think it'd mean to her what I want it to mean.”

Mercedes smiles. “I'd plant a scarlet oak tree with you if you wanted, Thea. It sounds fun! And just think how lovely the monastery will look in 5 years once they've all fully grown.”

“Mm, I might take you up on that,” Dorothea says with a wink. Dorothea looks over to Ferdinand. “I bet Ferdie's gotten an annoying amount of offers.”

Caught eavesdropping, Ferdinand rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “In all honesty, even if I had received requests, I would likely not have accepted. I would not do something so intimate as plant a scarlet oak tree with just anyone,” he confesses.

“Ooh, Ferdie, you're such a romantic,” Dorothea teases. He feels his cheeks heat.

“A very traditional stance,” Mercedes agrees. “I hope you find someone special who wants to plant it with you.”

Ferdinand thanks her, but realistically he isn’t expecting it. He gathers his things and takes the long way back to his room, thinking as he walks. The air is crisp at his skin, but the shining sun keeps the chill at bay.

Edelgard approached him just after the professor’s hair changed color. She explained everything to him in a reasonable but resolute manner that Ferdinand could not ignore. He agreed to join her side, and the relief on her face revealed she wasn’t expecting him to. He wonders who else in their class she asked discreetly, how many of them would still be his allies in two weeks.

He’s excited to begin his work; Edelgard had entrusted him with quite a lot. Including the privilege of being involved with his father’s trial. But there remains one large, looming problem. An annoying, persistent problem. A problem that glares into him with pale green eyes and shadows his steps.

Ferdinand literally runs straight into it.

“Hubert!” he exclaims. From this distance, he can smell something emanating from Hubert: lavender. Not quite a cologne or soap, the origins of the lavender elude Ferdinand. Such a delicate, soothing scent that Ferdinand never expects. It annoys him. He looks up and their eyes meet.

Hubert’s eyes are pale enough to resemble the snow-dusted grass at their feet. Well, at least one of them is. The other is concealed by long, thick waves that swallow the sunlight. It’s annoying. Ferdinand has always wanted to push those bangs aside, and even now, his hand twitches with the desire.

Ferdinand’s current solution to Hubert is inviting him to tea. It’s not the most reliable solution, but it is better than continuing on the way they have. They will never help Edelgard if they cannot learn to tolerate one another. Hopefully through the course of their tea, Ferdinand will find something of Hubert’s that does not annoy him.

Hubert sneers down at him, using his height as a weapon. Annoying. Ferdinand tries to decipher his expression, but Hubert is a master of the emotion “vaguely apathetically menacing”. Which shouldn’t be an emotion at all, but Hubert has always laughed in the face of emotional topics.

“You are looking grim as usual,” Ferdinand greets, tone cheerful despite his annoyance.

“And you’re looking irritating as usual,” Hubert replies casually.

Ferdinand grits his teeth. “Every time I speak with you, you frustrate me.”

“For once, it seems we agree,” Hubert says. It sounds like it hurts on the way out of his mouth. “Ugh, disgusting.”

“Disgusting?” Ferdinand challenges. “Am I so disagreeable that simply sharing an opinion with me is disgusting?”

Hubert rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “I’m hard pressed to find anything about you that isn’t.”

“How dare--!” Ferdinand swallows. He _will_ get along with Hubert, even if it kills him. At this rate, it’s going to kill him. “Surely there is _something_ about me that you tolerate? I have saved your life several times, need I remind you.”

Hubert sighs, the breath coming from his throat heavy and gravelly. “I have searched, but so much of you is shallow and vapid.” Hubert looks him up and down, scrutinizing. His eyes narrow more. Ferdinand doesn’t bother speculating on what about merely looking at his body would anger Hubert.

“Shallow and vapid?” Ferdinand asks. “I am always genuine!”

Hubert scoffs. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Very well then, I shall compliment you genuinely.” Ferdinand takes a deep breath. He spent nearly a year watching Hubert: sitting behind him in the classroom, witnessing his spells decimate the battlefield, critiquing his horse-tending techniques in the stables. Much of Hubert annoys him in a passive, persistent way, like a thorn burning his side. But there is one part of Hubert that he doesn’t hate. It is the part of Hubert that makes Ferdinand certain that tolerating one another is possible, if only in theory. “You are the most diligent person I have ever met, and I admire that about you.”

Hubert laughs, but then he looks into Ferdinand’s eyes. Slowly, his exposed eye widens with complete shock.

_“What?”_

“You never leave anything half-finished, you are always dedicated to helping Edelgard, and you devote yourself fully to your studies even though you do not trust our professor,” Ferdinand explains. The way Hubert looks at him makes him feel terribly exposed.

At last, Hubert softens his gaze, “Ah, I understand now.” He chuckles darkly. “You’re an imposter using dark magic. Very clever, you almost had me fooled.”

Ferdinand huffs. “I am not an imposter. I _am_ Ferdinand von Aegir!”

Hubert waves a gloved hand dismissively. “Very good, whoever you are, you can relinquish your disguise now.”

“This is not...Surely you know!” Ferdinand is not well-versed in magic, but he knows spells have distinct smells and hums to them. Some high-level spells are imperceptible to novices, but Hubert is far from a novice. “Must you always be so cynical and single-minded? You are extraordinarily intelligent, but you let yourself be a puppet to Edelgard! If you acted by your own judgement, with your own ambition, just imagine the good you could bring to our nation, to our continent!”

This, at last, seems to get through to Hubert. Edelgard told Hubert about Ferdinand’s decision, about his alliance, and perhaps that decision alone has allowed Hubert to be more receptive to Ferdinand.

Hubert brings a hand up to his mouth, covering it, concealing so much of himself. He has always been adverse to vulnerability, but until now, Ferdinand has always thought it was because he was immune to it. Now, Ferdinand wonders how much of Hubert is truly so immune. Hubert looks down towards the snow-coated grass, the only thing visible on his face a single eye. 

“This will come as no surprise to you,” Hubert says finally, “but I am…unaccustomed to compliments.”

That, in fact, comes as a great surprise. Certainly _he_ finds Hubert troubling, but there is an objective appeal to him. He is undeniably handsome, sharp and intense and assured. Hubert has to have admirers. Perhaps they are simply too shy to come forward? Hubert does pride himself on his intimidation tactics.

“You’re surprised,” Hubert deadpans. “You, of all people.”

Ferdinand blinks at him. “How do you mean?”

“You, who once picked a fight with me just because I entered the stables before you did. You, who once spent hours practicing at your vanity to tell me to ‘dive to the bottom of the pond and breathe deeply’, only to pitch a fit when I said it before you could.” Hubert crosses his arms again, shifting his weight to one foot. “You’re surprised no one compliments me.”

“Well, when you put it like that, it does seem rather paradoxical,” Ferdinand admits, rubbing the back of his neck. Has he truly been so rude? How unbecoming of a noble. Hubert has a way of drawing out Ferdinand’s most intense emotions. “…I have been cruel and uncouth,” he admits.

“And obnoxious, arrogant, selfish, entitled—”

“Oh and you have been such a saint in return? You are vexing, sarcastic, derisive—”

“Ah, here you are! You should be careful, you’ve an imposter about. Perhaps you should go very far away from me to look for them.”

“Saints alive!” Ferdinand cries. He groans and takes his head in his hand. “This is not how I wanted this to go.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ferdinand hesitantly looks to Hubert. How was it that they always ended up in such long, drawn out bickering sessions? Ferdinand is a noble, he is above this behavior, and Hubert prides himself on his objectivity and calm analysis. And Ferdinand even came into this conversation with the intention of mending their relationship. Yet despite all of that, it dissolved into childish name-calling. What is it about each other that always gets them so impassioned?

Knowing that Hubert finds him shallow and insincere, knowing that Hubert is still eager to insult him, makes Ferdinand nervous. This could easily dissolve into another shouting match. But he has to try.

“That is, in so many words…well what I had been attempting to say…what I had intended from the very beginning before becoming terribly sidetracked is that, um…”

“Get on with it,” Hubert orders.

“Have tea with me. Please.”

Hubert’s visible eye widens. He blinks. “I…what?”

Ferdinand sighs. “I tire of our animosity. We go back and forth endlessly and never accomplish anything! And if we are to work together to help Edelgard in earnest, I should like to mend our relationship. Begin it anew, shape it this time with care and affection.” Ferdinand holds out a gloved hand to Hubert, palm facing towards the sky. “Will you allow me?”

Hubert looks to Ferdinand’s hand, uncertain. Ferdinand can practically see thoughts churning in Hubert’s mind, see him considering and un-considering and reconsidering again. Ferdinand swallows uneasily. Hubert is certainly taking his sweet time merely deciding if he wishes to stop antagonizing Ferdinand so often.

“Your sentiments, they are, ehrm…reciprocated,” Hubert replies finally with an odd, delicate pink frosting the edges of his cheeks. Ferdinand wonders if agreeing to be friends is truly something worth getting so embarrassed over. Perhaps it is, to Hubert, which annoys him.

“But,” Hubert continues, looking sidelong at Ferdinand’s hand. “Are you certain? I am pointing my blades towards the goddess. If I accept your offer, she may smite you where you stand.”

Ferdinand already chose his allegiance. He smiles as he says, “Then allow me to be smitten.”

The pink at the edges of Hubert’s cheeks deepens, but he smirks, and takes Ferdinand’s hand.

* * *

It is far too cold to take tea in the gardens, so Ferdinand offers up his room.

Hubert reacts oddly to hearing that, but he does not object. Ferdinand promises to arrange everything, so Hubert merely needs to arrive.

As he chooses the tea to brew, he stumbles across a piece of a puzzle: lavender tea. Of course! It must have been Hubert’s favorite kind of tea. It explained why Ferdinand could always smell it on him, and its origins aside from cologne or soap.

He himself is not the most avid fan of lavender, finding that it always makes him drowsy, but today is not about him. It is about connecting with Hubert. So he brews the lavender tea, and sets up a few scones with Albinean Berry jam.

Hubert knocks at his door, which causes his heart to leap curiously. He supposes it is somewhat odd to be insulting Hubert, then inviting him to tea in his room mere hours later. But there is nothing for it.

They greet each other entirely civilly, perhaps for the first time in history. Ferdinand pulls out Hubert’s chair and gestures for him to sit, but the action seems to unsettle Hubert. Goddess, even when he is attempting to be considerate, he unnerves Hubert. Can he do nothing that Hubert takes neutrally?

“I have chosen lavender tea,” Ferdinand explains as he pours their cups, Hubert’s first.

“Lavender?”

“I surmised since you often smell of it, it must be your favorite tea,” Ferdinand explains.

“I...ah...” Hubert looks away. Ferdinand supposes that becoming friends with Hubert, like so many other endeavors, is something that will take much dedicated practice and zeal. Which suits him perfectly fine.

“I have made you uncomfortable,” Ferdinand says, sighing. “I did not even intend it this time.” He hopes it lightens the odd mood in the room.

Hubert shakes his head. “No, that is...I use lavender oil to help me sleep.”

“Oh!” That explained it. Hubert kept late nights, often returning to his room very late or not at all. And knowing what he knows now about his and Edelgard’s plans, Hubert had much work that seemed less than savory. “That sounds very soothing. I shall have to try it myself.”

Hubert takes a sip of the tea. “I didn't realize you suffered sleepless nights.”

“Well...” Ferdinand doesn’t suppose he has a right to complain. Not compared to Hubert, at the very least. Besides, he’s trying to become friends with the man, not start a competition of who has more difficulty sleeping. “More often than I should like,” he admits carefully. He takes a sip of tea. “In any case, insomnia is surely a common symptom of being a student in a military academy.”

Hubert looks into the teacup. “Indeed.”

Hubert’s legs are long, which affords him height whilst standing, but his back is also long, meaning that even when they sit, he is still taller. All of him is long, as if the goddess formed him by stretching out clay as far as it would go before snapping. His nose is long, his cheeks are long, his slender fingers are long. Ferdinand wonders how much time it would take to run his hand the entire length of Hubert’s back, of his arms, wonders how the shape of their fingers would compare when pressed together.

He marvels at himself. Such odd urges. A side-effect of their strange new friendship that was blooming? Of having Hubert so close for so long without the release of a backhanded compliment or a dirty look?

Speculation leads him nowhere, so he drinks more of his tea. It is incredibly soothing. He reaches for the pot to refill his cup but notices Hubert’s still quite full.

“You know, I promise I have not poisoned the tea,” Ferdinand comments.

Hubert snaps out of a concentrated look. “Oh, no, I know you haven’t, it is just…I don’t particularly care for the flavor,” he admits.

“Oh! Why did you not say so sooner? Tell me your favorite tea, I’ll fetch some this very moment and have it brewi—”

“No, don’t trouble yourself,” Hubert insists. 

Ferdinand frowns. “But, I must do something! I cannot allow today to leave a bad taste in your mouth. Metaphorically or literally.”

Hubert’s cheeks are dusted with that delicate pink again. Ferdinand thinks it may be his favorite expression of Hubert’s. It’s certainly an improvement over his condescending scowls. “It’s not all that important,” Hubert mutters. 

“Not all that important!?” Ferdinand shakes his head. “This is the start of our brand new relationship! I wish for you to remember this date for years to come.”

Strangely, the light pink of Hubert’s cheeks darkens to a deep scarlet. It causes Ferdinand’s heart to jump. He didn’t know Hubert’s face could darken so starkly, could look so exposed and human. Why is Hubert embarrassed? Has Ferdinand said something embarrassing? This calendar date, the 14th of Pegasus Moon 1181, is the beginning of their new friendship. What is so terribly unnerving about that fact?

Ferdinand does not ask, for fear of it spurring Hubert to hate him again.

“Oh. Um. Well,” Hubert says. He coughs into his fist, but the scarlet stays on the edges of his sharp cheeks, like blood dripping from a knife. “In that case, why don’t we plant a scarlet oak tree together? They say couples who do so and take care of their sapling will experience an everlasting bond.”

“A scarlet oak tree!” Ferdinand exclaims. He wants to laugh. Finally he has someone request to plant a sapling with him, and the request comes from Hubert of all people. The idea has his heart jittering in his chest.

He told Mercedes earlier that he wished to plant one with a lover. But he supposes that she made a point: friendship is another form of love, one that is just as valuable as romantic love. And Hubert wanting to solidify their friendship…it’s a warm thought that blooms in his chest. They would get along after all. Not just in theory, not just tolerating one another tightly. They can begin something based on respect and understanding, and work together.

“I had no idea this meant so much to you,” Ferdinand admits. Hubert refuses to look at him, scarlet cheeks screaming. They make Hubert’s pale face blotchy and uneven, which Ferdinand decides he likes even better than the light pink. “Yes,” Ferdinand finally says, and Hubert looks up at him. “We will plant a scarlet oak sapling to commemorate our new relationship!”

* * *

They argue the entire time. They argue on what is a fair price for a sapling (Hubert insists the merchant is overcharging, but Ferdinand is certain he must need the money), they argue over which sapling to pick, they argue over how to carry it, they argue over how low in the dirt it should be buried. _Old habits die hard_ , Ferdinand supposes.

The only thing they don’t argue on is where to plant it. They find an open hill a bit away from the monastery, secluded and private but exposed to lots of sunshine. Ferdinand likes it because of the view, Hubert likes it because eventually the tree will grow and prove much-needed shade to the area.

They plant it together, still bickering as they do, but Ferdinand notices how much gentler their arguments are. No more needless character attacks, nor exasperated sighs or scoffs or rolled eyes. It’s relieving. Though, a part of him fears a friendship tree planted with so much disagreement and discord will only grow crooked and rotten, if indeed it grows at all.

But he catches Hubert’s expression as they use their spades to cover the tiny roots of the scarlet oak. Hubert looks so content, the gentlest of smiles gracing his lips. His lips are long too, Ferdinand notes, and the color is a paler version of the blush he’d seen for the first time today. On Hubert’s left side, he can see much of his face as his long bangs hang low.

Hubert catches him staring, startling Ferdinand, but he smiles wider. In that moment, with Hubert’s cheeks and lips light pink, eyes bright green, sky blue and wide behind him, Ferdinand is certain he will remember this date for years to come.


	2. 1182: A Missed Opportunity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: Disordered eating, depression (references will be made to this in later chapters), discussion of injury (non-graphic)

**14th of the Pegasus Moon, 1182**

During war, there’s no time for romance. Hubert has repeated this mantra more times than he cares to remember, reminding their soldiers and generals alike to focus on survival and the war effort. It may be the Pegasus Celebration today, but tyrants don’t overthrow themselves and there’s always more work to be done.

Hubert dresses quickly in the darkness before the sixth bell. He has much to do—assassinations to arrange, intelligence to gather, people to threaten—although the significance of the day is not lost to him. He and Ferdinand have been courting for a year now. Yet Hubert’s plans to surprise him with flowers (a thank you for his recent battlefield successes and motivator for future ones, nothing else) will have to wait. Attending Lady Edelgard comes first. Hubert pockets the reports slipped under his door overnight before setting off towards the kitchen to prepare her breakfast.

He notices light shining from underneath Ferdinand’s door but pays it no mind. _“Rocinante is a magnificent specimen and requires my continued presence in the mornings and evenings lest she feel neglected,”_ Ferdinand had said when they last spoke. It is not unusual for Ferdinand to be up at this time to exercise his mount—Hubert has seen them around the grounds. He vehemently denied watching Ferdinand’s morning ride the one time he was caught. Hubert had been returning to his room after falling asleep over old border maps in the library when the reflection of sunlight off Ferdinand’s copper hair halted Hubert in his tracks. Linhardt found him staring but thankfully said nothing of what he saw. Losing him would’ve been a hindrance; there was no better healer in their ranks. It was best no one knew the true nature of his and Ferdinand’s relationship. If their enemies became aware of his courtship with Ferdinand, it could be used against him.

The Emperor’s ‘Rabid Cur’ has no weaknesses. Part of his effectiveness at cutting a bloody path for Her Imperial Majesty was that people truly believed him to be less than human. They believed there was no way to hurt him. If anyone found out, it would pose a threat to Lady Edelgard. Hubert could not allow that to happen.

Yet the conversations he and his lady once had still linger insidiously in his head.

_Sometimes I wonder if your life might have taken you down a different path…what kind of life you would have had without me. If I am truly the center of your world, then I wish you would trust me as I trust you. Hubert, this is a path we walk together, but I wish for you to have your own happiness once we are done._

Her words from this morning, said while swiftly banishing him from her quarters, echoed that sentiment.

“I will bear the weight of the dead without remorse. What we are doing must be done. But it’s only human to want a day where I don’t have to. It’s the 14th of the Pegasus Moon, Hubert. We should all take the day off to spend with those we lo—admire, don’t you think? Everyone has worked so hard, we deserve the break.”

Or maybe taking a day off for romance was all the Empress consort’s idea. A lesser man might have balked at the scathing look Dorothea gave him for interrupting their morning. It was…unusual…for Hubert to trust someone else with his liege’s safety, and for him to be apart from her for so long, but perhaps it was for the best. Dorothea is an accomplished mage, Lady Edelgard would be fine.

From the looks she gave him, Hubert wasn't sure _he_ would be fine if he’d stayed much longer.

Having been banished for the day, Hubert stands in the corridor, at a loss for what to do. Today _is_ meant to be a day for those in courtship, and yet Ferdinand is so very busy at the moment. Busier than Hubert, if he is to be believed. (He is never to be believed. Ferdinand von Aegir has a penchant for being dramatic and exaggerating the facts. In the Academy Days it had incensed Hubert, but during their scant tea dates this past year, he’d become more tolerant of that particular transgression. He still corrected Ferdinand whenever he forgot to address Her Imperial Majesty by her correct title.)

A whole year had passed since they planted a scarlet oak tree together. Hubert was disappointed they hadn’t been able to make more time for tea—they rarely managed once a month—although he admired Ferdinand’s dedication to their cause. He never did anything by halves, and watching Ferdinand nobly throw himself headfirst into his duties had been somewhat pleasant. If he was perfectly honest with himself, Hubert might describe the emotion he felt as some sort of _pride_ towards Ferdinand. But Hubert made a point of not being honest with himself when it came to Ferdinand von Aegir.

So yes, they had not spent as much time together as Hubert would’ve liked since they began to court the previous year, however he had been pleasantly surprised that Ferdinand seemed to agree that fighting and organizing the war efforts came first. He’d rather imagined that Ferdinand would be more demanding, but he’d been very understanding.

Hubert was coming to realize he had never quite given Ferdinand enough credit last year. Not that he’d ever admit it.

 _Especially_ not to Ferdinand.

His mind made up, Hubert allows the right side of his mouth to curl up a small fraction. It’s safely hidden behind his fringe; no one would see it. The free day his liege granted him could be spent with Ferdinand. If Lady Edelgard was taking a day off, surely her advisors could as well. For Ferdinand is starting to become a worthy adviser. Still far too obsessed with outshining Edelgard, but Hubert found he could ignore that now by focusing on the smattering of freckles across Ferdinand’s nose and cheeks instead.

A quick search of the stables and surrounding areas leaves Hubert worried. Rocinante was in her stable, ungroomed and ill tempered. The dining hall is also empty; none of the staff saw him at breakfast. Hubert pockets some sweet rolls wrapped in a cloth and returns to Ferdinand’s room. Silence answers when he raps his knuckles against the door. Not so much as the rustle of clothes can be heard.

“Ferdinand?” Hubert calls, his face against the wood and a gloved hand already reaching for the doorknob. If he’d fallen asleep with lit candles, it wouldn’t be improper for Hubert to let himself into Ferdinand’s room, right? He should. It’s a matter of Ferdinand’s safety. Lady Edelgard’s safety, too.

“Ferdinand, I must insist you answer, or I’ll let myself in.” No need for him to force the door and see Ferdinand in a state of undress. Announcing his intentions to break Ferdinand’s privacy should spur the orange nuisance into action. He hadn’t been invited into Ferdinand’s room since the tea date when they began courting and Hubert respected that boundary. Applauded it, even. Where they work so closely together, it’s important for them to have some aspects of their lives that are separate.

Finally, he hears signs of life: a bone weary sigh that turns into a yawn. “Locked doors have never stopped you before, Hubert. It is not open, but I am sure you will enter all the same.”

Defeat saturates Ferdinand’s words, the sound more unpleasant than nails on a chalkboard. Dread claws at his gut, and Hubert is torn between respecting boundaries and needing confirmation things sound worse than they are. “Only if you wish me to. If you do not, I of course respect that, Ferdinand. Regardless of what we do—or don’t,” Hubert adds with a forced chuckle, hoping to dispel some of the tension “—do to the door, I will require some proof of your wellbeing.”

“Just come in, Hubert.”

Not the resounding invitation he’d hoped for but with a quick unlocking spell, Hubert opens the door. Half eaten pastries, clearly from at least yesterday, sit on a tray next to the teapot on his desk. Enough candlelight to work by covers the desk, but the disorganized stacks of paper are often too close to naked flames for comfort. So is Ferdinand’s hair where his cheek leans on his hand; the disheveled mop hovering mere centimeters from the closest candle. Hubert has not missed how the kinks in his lengthening hair long to turn into waves, possibly even curls. That cherubic face framed with ringlets…Ah, but the man himself currently looks _wretched._ Phantom pain flairs in Hubert’s own back from looking at Ferdinand’s posture, bent over the desk with his shoulders hunched over. Ink smudges cover his face. Ferdinand stares blankly at the page he is currently writing, blinking on occasion. His sunken eyes are bloodshot, and the light that makes Ferdinand von Aegir so dazzlingly brilliant to observe has been extinguished.

Were this grotesque reflection of himself an actual mirror, Hubert would smash it to rid the world of such perverse mockery. Removal, threats and destruction are his methods of fixing problems. Alas, reigniting Ferdinand’s brilliance will require him to poorly reflect some of Ferdinand’s own light back, like the moon does the sun, and hope it is enough.

“I really am busy, Hubert. I would appreciate it if you made this quick. Our battle plans have been more taxing than I expected, and I have yet to draft the letters requesting additional war funds.” Ferdinand returns to frantically scribbling at the closest page to him. The writing is entirely illegible, the diagrams shoddy, and evidence of his red eyes being due to more than tiredness permeates the page where the ink has run.

Reaching over Ferdinand, Hubert removes the quill from his hand—asking Ferdinand to stop when he is like this would lead to an argument neither of them have the energy to waste on. He ignores the sinking feeling when Ferdinand flinches away from his touch. It is made much easier by the fact that he’d had to lean over to reach, and the jolt sends Ferdinand’s head painfully into his jaw.

“If you wished to hurt me, I can think of better ways that would not have resulted in your injury as well.” Ferdinand sighs, attempting to lean back in his chair. His body protests the hours he’s obviously spent in the same position.

Hubert scoffs in an attempt to hide his laugh but the ridiculousness of the situation brings a strained smile to Ferdinand’s face too, until both of them are giggling like children. Setting the quill down carefully, he moves a few of the documents aside to make space on the desk for him to perch. “When did you last eat?” Hubert keeps his tone soft and encouraging. Accusations won’t help the situation.

He’s waved off regardless. “Yesterday. Look,” Ferdinand gestures disinterestedly at the pastries.

 _Lies,_ an unhelpful part of Hubert’s brain supplies. Pressing further will make things worse. He reaches for one of the half eaten pastries instead. Hard and stale, it disintegrates in his hand. Evidence of the lie. Hubert stays silent, keeping his breathing even. He didn’t _intend_ to reveal the untruth, but here it is before them.

Ferdinand looks away. “I am not hungry.” When he realizes that is not enough, he closes his eyes with a sharp exhale. “I have not been hungry. Meals would be wasted on me. There are others who need the nourishment more than I.”

Her Imperial Majesty chastised Hubert for his erratic sleep and eating schedules in the past. The irony of him lecturing Ferdinand on the same matter is not lost on him. Now he knows how much it hurts to hear the excuses, he’ll do as she asks next time. “Yet you waste the food by not finishing it.”

Angry eyes, the same color as honey, finally meet his own. Progress, of sorts, though he knew his words were a mistake as soon as they left his mouth. “Do _not_ judge _me,_ Hubert von Vestra.” Ferdinand lets out a scathing bark of laughter. “You are far worse than I.”

“Agreed.” Hubert’s enthusiastic agreement seems to disarm Ferdinand, at least.

“These reports do need my attention. I shall eat when they are done.”

“No.” Ferdinand sits forwards, closing the space between them in what he clearly hopes is a threatening gesture. Hubert doesn’t know whether to be happy Ferdinand considers them so close he’s forgotten exactly who he’s talking to, or disappointed the noble isn’t better versed in intimidation techniques. Hubert will have to teach him. Another time. “You will eat these now.” Hubert produces the sweet rolls from his pocket and places them on the table, picking the napkin away from where it has stuck to the glaze. “And then, you will forgo all of this to make time for yourself.”

Ferdinand opens his mouth to protest. Hubert seizes the opportunity to stuff one of the rolls in it. “Eat up,” he drawls, a self satisfied smirk spreading across his face. For a second, a flash of seething hatred burns through Ferdinand’s eyes and Hubert wonders if he pushed him too far. He decides it doesn’t matter. Ferdinand’s health is paramount—Hubert would exchange their relationship for it if necessary. The flash is gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by weary resignation.

Once the first roll is finished, Ferdinand dutifully consumes the rest without further issue, although he petulantly sticks out his tongue and says “there” as proof he’s finished them all.

Hubert can feel a headache coming on. It seems today will not be a day of rest for him after all, but servitude to those he cares for is something Hubert is happy to do.

“Now I have finished, may I be left to my work?”

“Not today.”

“I must insist—”

“No, Ferdinand. You think I missed how your spine cracked when you sat back?” The flash of surprise in his eyes tells Hubert that he did. _“I_ must insist you leave your desk, if only for an hour. It is not healthy. Before you make this a baseless competition of proving yourself to the cause, know I am taking the day off as well.”

Ferdinand deflates, relaxing into his seat and Hubert realizes how true his words are. Ferdinand’s working himself half to death in a desperate attempt to prove what he already had. The fool. “If I am not working, you may also take a break. We have earned it, after all.”

“But Lady Edelgard—”

A genuine smile flits across Hubert’s face. Ferdinand so often forgets her title, it is a pleasant surprise when he remembers. “I assure you, Lady Edelgard is also…ah, how to put it delicately…otherwise engaged for the day.”

Life returns to Ferdinand’s frowning face once more, his curiosity piqued. “Please Hubert, out with it. Do not tease me so.”

“I would have thought you of all people would know. One of Adrestia’s most ardent gossipers.”

Ferdinand scoffs. “I am not a _gossip,_ as you so scandalously implied. I just…like to stay up to date on current affairs so I might better serve Lady Edelgard’s interests. Knowing the ins and outs of social circles helps me with that.”

Lady, again. A warm, fond feeling spreads through Hubert’s chest. _Whatever you say, Ferdinand._ “No need to convince me of the value of information. However, it would seem you have been so consumed with work that certain developing relationships have escaped your notice.” Hubert pauses, trying to find the right words for the situation. It requires something a little more dramatic than he is used to if he is to participate in such idle gossip with Ferdinand. Instead, he opts to lean forwards until his mouth is next to Ferdinand’s ear and whispers, “This morning, the wonderful Dorothea herself kicked me out of Lady Edelgard’s room.”

“I am woefully out of touch,” laments Ferdinand.

“Indeed, and remaining in here will not help. Come, get dressed, and we’ll see what can be overheard outside, hmm?”

Hubert stands, pulling Ferdinand to his feet before leaving the room to grant him privacy as he changes.

* * *

“If you meant for us to travel such a distance we should have ridden.” Ferdinand complained the entire walk. Grateful as he is for their time together and to see some of the life return to the man he is courting, Hubert is fed up with the moaning.

“I am _not_ spending my free time with those ill tempered beasts.”

“Have you ever considered that it is your poor attitude and poorer behavior towards such magnificent animals that causes them to be so short with you? Perhaps if you were generally nicer—”

“Have _you_ ever considered shutting up?” Hubert pants, his breathlessness taking the venom out of his voice. The walk is indeed longer than he recalled.

“I could ask you the same thing! In fact, I insist upon it, lest you collapse from trying to walk and talk at the same time. You ought to train more, you should not be so out of breath from such a short walk!”

“Make up your damned mind, Ferdinand! Is the walk long or short!?”

“Well, I would not call the walk long, but you are obviously struggling! We shall just have to train together. We can start right now, with some sprints up that…hill…” Ferdinand trails off, recognizing where they are. “Oh. It is the 14th of the Pegasus Moon. I must admit, I had forgotten. It slipped my mind.”

“A lot has happened.” Hubert shrugs, striding up the hill as fast as his long legs can carry him. Ferdinand’s words put a new fire underneath him; he needs time alone at the top to compose himself.

 _How could Ferdinand have forgotten?_ Hubert thinks, ignoring Ferdinand’s requests for him to slow down. They appear to be getting further away. Good. Hubert had not forgotten any of it: the invitation to tea, _‘then let me be smitten,’_ Ferdinand noticing how he smelled, Ferdinand revealing that he, too, suffered sleepless nights and planting the tree together. How the sun had reflected off his hair in a halo of light that had _almost_ inspired Hubert to start believing in the false Goddess.

That curious look on Ferdinand’s face when Hubert had turned around to find himself being watched—something akin to contentment, the shadow of a wistful smile until he realized Hubert noticed and jumped a foot in the air.

Each step becomes slower, shorter, until Hubert stops altogether and Ferdinand barrels into his back, knocking them both over.

“Why did you stop?” Ferdinand grumbles, pushing himself to his feet before reaching out a hand to help Hubert to his feet. He takes it and they end up close enough for Hubert to notice Ferdinand’s thick eyebrows are a more reddish color than the hair on his head. He refrains from running his free hand through it.

“My apologies, Ferdinand. For everything except forcing you to leave your room.”

Ferdinand smiles, dropping Hubert’s hand. “I might just be able to forgive you for that, if nothing else. It is a beautiful day.”

Sunlight catches his wide doe eyes and all Hubert can do is stare. A hundred different shades of gold glitter within them, turned molten by the genuine warmth Ferdinand radiates. Looking into them for too long is akin to staring into the sun; the intensity of Ferdinand’s gaze burns into Hubert until it is all he can see. Glancing down to avoid being blinded, he notices the long, curved eyelashes resting on rosy cheeks.

Ferdinand blinks, and the spell is broken. “Race you to the top.” He runs off at full speed, powerful thighs carrying him up in record time. Hubert chuckles to himself and attempts to catch up.

Of course he is unsuccessful. When he gets to the top, Hubert doubles over, clutching at his sides as he tries to regain his breath. He might have to take Ferdinand up on that offer for more training. Or tell Linhardt he has to work and chase after him when he runs away.

“What are these?” Ferdinand gestures at the various tools and buckets scattered around their sapling.

Hubert merely raises a finger to indicate he needs a minute, still gasping for breath. His face feels insanely hot despite the winter chill in the air.

“Have you…have you been tending to our scarlet oak?” Ferdinand barely whispers, his hand outstretched as he inches towards the sapling. It shot up over the year, gaining an extra two feet in height, but the trunk is still thin. Nothing grows within two meters of it—not so much as a blade of grass, everything removed in a perfect circle. Some of the leaves look damaged or diseased, but not a year’s worth.

“Ye—” Hubert’s voice gives out. He coughs, swallows to wet his dry throat, and tries again. “Yes. Cultivating them is important to ensure proper growth and it’s…important to me, Ferdinand. As is our relationship, although I may not always act like it, or treat you as I should.”

“ _Hubert,”_ breathes Ferdinand, his mouth agape. For once, he seems at a loss for words, just staring at the tree with the same sort of wonder Hubert had when he received his first dagger. “It is growing straight, and so healthily too! How often do you come here?”

 _Thrice weekly._ “Once or twice a month. I also check on it after stormy weather or intense winds.”

“I…I did not know you cared so,” Ferdinand beams at him, and Hubert wonders how he ever thought of him as vapid when everything about Ferdinand screams genuine. Rays of sunlight begin to peak through the dark clouds hovering around him; the simple pleasures of the outside helping to banish the prior year’s woes, if only for a time.

“I don’t. It’s just a distraction from the war.” The storm clouds are back in Ferdinand’s eyes. If Hubert looks closely enough, he can see how close they are to opening and raining hot tears down the noble’s face. Damn Ferdinand to the eternal flames for forcing him to think about feelings. “Caring for anyone other than Lady Edelgard is dangerous in my position, Ferdinand. You know this. Being seen to care…being seen with someone…”

Ferdinand perks up. “Yet you are out here with me. Almost as if you have a heart after all.”

It takes everything in him not to snort at the ridiculousness of the statement. It hardly matters how he feels, and surely Ferdinand knows it anyway. He speaks slowly, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Yes, Ferdinand. Even I am saddled with such afflictions of the human condition as _emotions.”_

“Aha! Well then, we must have tea weekly so I can best decide how to convince the people of what I have just learned!”

Their schedules are far too demanding to meet weekly. Hubert should decline. Not even the False Goddess herself knows why he doesn’t. “Fine. But I would prefer you not make me drink that awful poison you call tea and permit me instead to have coffee.” He starts to pull up weeds around the tree and Ferdinand joins without a single complaint for his pale breeches.

“You cannot seriously enjoy that disgustingly bitter drink! A cup of hot mud would taste better. I would wager that stuff—” Ferdinand gestures towards a pile of leafmould mulch they will spread on the ground once the weeding is done “—steeped in boiling water would taste better. It is inconceivable to me that…”

Hubert drowns out Ferdinand’s long list of complaints about coffee, focusing instead on the tasks they must complete. They change the tree stake to a larger one to support its continued growth, adjust the ties attaching it to the tree and spread the leafmould mulch. Hubert teaches Ferdinand how to identify and safely remove diseased and damaged leaves, then how to prune the shoots, removing ones that are too close together or cross over in an undesirable way. Finally, he points out the buckets for collecting rainwater to pour over the tree when the weather is drier. As they work, they debate. Rather than the pointless arguing and needling at each other that had plagued them before, one of them raises a point, the other counters, and a back and forth emerges that forces them both to think. Granted, neither change their point of view in the end, but the conversation remains civil. _Like the scarlet oak, we have grown stronger too,_ Hubert thinks. Figuratively and literally, if the muscles that flex underneath Ferdinand’s shirt as he works are anything to go by. He sneaks glances at Ferdinand when he can, noting the tranquil look on his face while he works.

It’s a good look on him. So much better than the hollow emptiness from that morning.

When they are done, there is plenty of dirt under Ferdinand’s immaculate fingernails, streaks of mulch on his face to accompany the ink stains, and a leaf or two in his hair. The sun hangs low in the sky, but they have an hour or so of light left yet. Hubert spreads a blanket out on the cold ground and sits, crossing his long legs at the ankles as he stretches them out in front of him. Ferdinand flops down next to him, clearly exhausted.

“How very ignoble of you, Ferdinand.” Hubert cannot resist the jest, a wicked grin on his face.

“This whole thing was ignoble—the _noble_ thing to do would be leave it to the gardener. I enjoyed tasks like this very much as a child, before my father made it clear they were not m-m-mine to d-d-do.”

“You are cold.”

“Y-y-yes,” Ferdinand stammers, his teeth chattering.

“Come closer, I don’t bite.”

Ferdinand chortles, shuffling into Hubert’s side. “I d-d-do n-n-not believe that for a s-s-second, yet I am too c-c-cold and tired to complain.”

“Unlike you, I shall choose to believe you without question.” Ferdinand’s nose brushes against his neck as he settles and Hubert stiffens.

“That is good of you, Hubert.” Ferdinand yawns, his speech beginning to slur. “Yshd bmre good, Hubert. Suits you.”

“Darkness suits me better.” Hubert turns his head to where Ferdinand rests on his shoulder, just about able to make out his closed eyes.

“Nuh-uh.” Clearly too tired to make coherent sentences now, Ferdinand instead resorts to childish retorts. The weight of his body against Hubert’s is pleasant. He is cute like this. A leaf still sits in his hair, so Hubert dares to run a hand through it to remove the offending debris.

“Wuhcha doing, Hubert?”

“Just removing a leaf, Ferdinand. Settle.”

“Mmkay. Smells good. Like lavender.”

Within minutes, Ferdinand’s breathing slows. His chest rises and falls evenly. His face is blank in a peaceful way, a pleasant contrast to the haunting vacant stares from earlier. Hubert sits in the cooling winter evening, enjoying the simple pleasures of a sunset and the man he can’t admit to caring so deeply for.

* * *

Yellows transform into oranges, pinks and eventually blues as the sun sets. It is past time they returned to the monastery, yet Ferdinand sleeps so soundly Hubert can’t bring himself to wake him. The temperature drops as the colors of the sky change. Long nights spent stood outside in all weather to track his targets have acclimated Hubert to chills worse than this, but Ferdinand is a creature of heat, used to a thick down duvet and a warm hearth. Hubert is unsurprised at how he trembles as the air cools. Doing his best not to disturb Ferdinand, he manages to unclasp the cloak he has taken to wearing and drapes it over Ferdinand like a blanket.

This time, the nose that brushes against his neck is frozen cold, but the voice that speaks is clear and well rested.

“Hubert?”

“Yes, Ferdinand?”

“Where are we?” The most beautiful blush covers his cheeks. It reminds Hubert of the sunset he was not awake to see.

“Still by the oak. You fell asleep and I felt like you needed the rest. Come, now you’re awake, stand up and let’s return.”

“Yes—yes, that sounds like the best course of action.”

Ferdinand rises gracefully, fastening the cloak around his shoulders without a second thought. Once again, he lets Ferdinand help pull him to his feet. Hubert folds the blanket, damp from the evening dew, and drapes it over an arm. They walk back to the monastery in a companionable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Hubert’s mostly curse him for draping the blanket over the arm closest to Ferdinand, preventing him from offering his arm or a hand for Ferdinand to take as they strolled. No one would see in the dark of the evening; it would’ve been safe for him to show affection.

The silence continues when they find themselves outside Ferdinand’s room. Hubert and Ferdinand hover, unsure of what to say, until they find their voices at the same time.

“I must thank you—”

“I can arrange for—”

An awkward pause, then they both laugh.

“Please Hubert, you go first, I must insist.”

“Very well. We have missed dinner, but I can arrange for food to be brought to your room.”

“Ah, a kind offer, but not one I can accept. Do not look at me like that with those disapproving eyes! I am simply too tired to eat, I fear I will be dead to the world as soon as my head hits the pillow. However, I assure you, I will be at breakfast tomorrow,” says Ferdinand.

“In your eyes, a noble never breaks their word, yes?” Hubert asks.

“But of course! It is a code we must live by. A man is only as good as—”

“Give me your word I will see you at meals tomorrow.”

Ferdinand seems taken aback by Hubert’s insistence and forcefulness, but he agrees nevertheless. “You have it, Hubert.”

Hubert sighs in relief, allowing the tightness in his frame to melt away. He must have stepped closer to Ferdinand while asking him about food. Their chests are almost touching, and Ferdinand’s head is tilted all the way back to make eye contact, exposing the elegant column of his neck. Hubert’s eyes trace up it, along the jawline still soft with stubborn remnants of baby fat, to those plush, pink lips tinged blue from the cold. They rest there for longer than is proper, but Hubert never cared for any of that nonsense. His gaze continues upwards, from the freckles that mimic the constellations beginning to appear when they retired for the evening, to the honey amber irises Hubert could lose himself in.

“Don’t work so hard, Ferdinand.”

“Aha! Coming from you, that is rich.”

“I know better than most why you shouldn’t work too hard. Take better care of yourself? Please?” _For me?_ Hubert adds in his head, not daring to say the words out loud.

Ferdinand’s brows draw together. His eyes flit across Hubert’s face, searching for something, before meeting his gaze again with a nod.

Hubert stares down into Ferdinand’s eyes, waiting for what feels like an eternity for him to excuse himself.

He doesn’t.

Ferdinand’s eyes wander to Hubert’s lips instead. Hubert takes the invitation and leans in slowly, tentatively.

Ferdinand doesn’t pull away.

His eyes remain trained on Hubert’s lips and he swallows. The bob in his throat is sinfully alluring, Hubert notes as he closes the distance between them. Ferdinand’s breath is hot against Hubert’s mouth and he can’t resist licking his lips, nearly wetting Ferdinand’s in the process. He looks so enticing…

“Oh!” Ferdinand starts, jerking away. “Thank you for the use of your cloak!” He quickly undoes the fastenings and pushes it into Hubert’s chest. He grabs the offending garment with a nod and a weak smile.

“Good night, Hubert.” Ferdinand keeps his eyes towards the floor, making the crimson blossoming across his face and ears entirely obvious. He spins round too quickly, pawing at the door handle in his haste to get in the room and shut the door swiftly behind him.

Stunned, Hubert just stares at the door. He’d been certain Ferdinand wanted to kiss him. And that reaction was surely one of embarrassment. So did Ferdinand not want to be seen kissing him?

It made sense, Hubert supposes. In the moment, he’d forgotten all about keeping their relationship secret. Safety first. If anyone _had_ seen…

Hubert returns to his own room and disrobes, placing his dirty clothes and gloves over a chair. Removing the bottle from his bedside table, he spreads lavender oil over the sheets to help him sleep before climbing into bed. It doesn’t work. He spends most of the night staring at the ceiling, analyzing every second of his day with Ferdinand over and over.

* * *

**14th of the Pegasus Moon, 1183**

The next year, errands and a surprise attack prevent any romantic celebrations. Hubert returns from a mission sabotaging the mad King’s supply lines to find chaos at their base and their tree half burnt. Sparing the time to pour the buckets of collected rainwater over their sapling, Hubert strides straight to Lady Edelgard’s room, the knot in his gut a mixture of worry and seething anger.

He rounds the corridor to her chambers, his pace quickening, until her voice—with no hints of worry, exhaustion or pain, he notes with palpable relief—makes him pause.

“Thank you for your service today, Ferdinand. Were it not for you, I don’t think we would have been able to repel the church forces. And your personal sacrifice—I appreciate what you did today.”

“Pay it no mind, please! I just did my duty to protect you and our troops.”

“It was hardly your duty to take a dagger for me. Don’t learn humility to downplay _this_ of all things. You have seen Linhardt, yes? Good, I’m glad he was able to heal your wounds well.”

Hubert’s eyes widen in shock. He’d failed them. He didn’t know about this supposed attack. In his absence, Lady Edelgard’s life had been threatened, Ferdinand had been wounded to save her, and their tree had burned down.

_Not again._

Hubert breathes deeply, the rest of Edelgard and Ferdinand’s conversation lost to the swirling emotions in his head. He longs to personally check they are okay, but he doesn’t deserve that luxury. Instead, he digs his nails out of their position embedded in his palms and heads to his room.

On the way, he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror. The child he sees reflected back at him had failed. _Again._

No more. It was time to become the man he was born to be.

He changes directions and quickly finds Dorothea in her room. She looks a little exhausted after the battle, but otherwise unharmed.

“Oh, hey Hub—” she cuts off, catching sight of the fury in his face. “What’s up?”

“My appearance is childish. It has to go.” _I need to be free of the child’s failures, so I can ensure they are not repeated._

“What do you mean?” Dorothea asks. She gives him a sympathetic look when Hubert gestures weakly at his hair. “Don’t do anything drastic now, we were all floored by the attack but—”

Hubert’s growl stops her mid sentence.

“Are you sure, Hubie?”

Hubert levels her with a piercing glare until she grabs the scissors and brings them to his hair.

_Never again._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork for the first two chapters is [here](https://twitter.com/JayysNest/status/1373331995732889600), please go tell Jayy / Gladdy how lovely it is.
> 
> Rainbow: There is little in life as delicious as the almost-kiss. I love this glimpse at Hubert's warring emotional state here, and poor Ferdie being very much Not OkayTM. Every time I read this I can't help but think they're not quite ready for a relationship yet lol.
> 
> El: Ferdie I'm so sorry please be happy :sobs: Hubert I'm also so sorry but that's a bitchin' haircut my dude. Hubert's deliciously conflicted internal dialogue was so fun to write, as was any and all banter / bickering. It's a good thing they aren't actually together because they are definitely NOT ready for it. Hubert please chill, thanks.
> 
> I would do a "next time, on Quercus" but I think the [titles](https://twitter.com/Elasmosaurus11/status/1373080438189752325?s=20) for Ch 3 and 4 are pretty self explanatory...


	3. 1184: A First Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by the wonderful [Gladdy](https://twitter.com/gladdybug/status/1376229195697827854?s=20) please go tell them how much you love it

**13 Pegasus Moon 1184**

Hubert is no stranger to sensual pleasures, having traded quite a few for information in his life, but he is completely clueless when it comes to romance. A disparity he never minded before Ferdinand.

Two years ago, Hubert first realized how different Ferdinand was in a relationship than Hubert expected him to be. Hubert expected someone high maintenance and impossible to care for--demanding, entitled, hopelessly romantic. But Ferdinand asked very little of him, only ever suggesting shared tea and coffee or strolls. At first, it was relieving. But now, Hubert wonders.

And last year--the year they skipped over celebrating altogether, the year they forgot--Hubert first realized just how much everything meant to him. After watching their scarlet oak tree nearly perish in flames, he cared for it alone as best he could. He spent the better part of this year wrestling with his two conflicting truths: that he is not but a tool for Lady Edelgard, and that he cares for Ferdinand desperately.

Hubert is both a man of action and a tactician, so this year, he has decided to end his and Ferdinand’s habit of not prioritizing one another. As much as feasible, of course.

He thinks all of this as he walks briskly to Ferdinand’s room, head so caught up he almost doesn’t notice when he runs into Ferdinand himself.

“Hubert! How fortuitous. I was just coming to find you,” Ferdinand says.

“Listen, Ferdinand, I…”

“Yes?” Ferdinand breathes. He’s waiting for something, holding his breath. Hubert is certain he doesn’t know what Ferdinand expects from him. Too much, surely.

“Tomorrow is the 14th, and so I thought we might do something to celebrate.”

“The two of us?” Ferdinand asks.

Hubert nods. “I know there is yet a war on, but we’re reaching a stalemate. And last year regrettably slipped right past us.” Hubert clenches his fist with the memory of it, the memory of almost losing everything. Again. But he forces himself to breathe out slowly, to focus on the present.

Ferdinand’s hair nears the center of his shoulder-blades. It’s lovelier than it ever has been, but Ferdinand doesn’t take notice. He could braid it, or take sections of it up and away with ribbons that suited his fancy, which Hubert assumed was the reason Ferdinand grew it out in the first place. But he never did. A fact that bothered a faraway corner of Hubert’s mind, a contradiction that lent itself to unease. This sporadically manifested itself as a desire to braid Ferdinand’s hair himself.

But Ferdinand has grown…jumpy at Hubert’s touch. Logically, objectively, Hubert filed it away as a number of reasonable things: Ferdinand’s stress from the war, the unease lingering from their past rivalry, oversensitivity from lack of sleep. But he can’t shake the feeling that Ferdinand is unhappy with their relationship.

He supposes he should ask him. It would be prudent, and it would be one less damn thing weighing on Hubert’s mind. But he isn’t quite sure how.

“What did you have in mind?” Ferdinand asks. Normally he is as easy to read as a children’s book, expressions clear and vibrant. But Ferdinand’s voice is inscrutably tight. Hubert swallows his unease.

“Nothing ostentatious, but something pleasant.” Hubert pauses, and looks away from Ferdinand’s eyes, landing on the tips of autumn hair that dance across his shoulders. “Something intimate.”

Ferdinand inhales sharply. Hubert doesn’t know why Ferdinand’s acting nervous all of a sudden. They’ve skipped over anything resembling courtship activities for the past two years, but they are still courting.

 _For how much longer?_ Asks a traitorous voice in him, the ruthless voice that normally he relies on but now wants to kill.

“…I would like that,” Ferdinand admits, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.

Hubert can’t fathom the relief that washes over him. “Tomorrow afternoon, then,” he promises. “Meet me by our tree.”

“Our scarlet oak tree?” Ferdinand asks, brow furrowed. “But I thought it had burned down a year ago.”

Hubert can’t help a mischievous grin. Something about Ferdinand always makes him feel like he can let his guard down, reveal his emotions on his face rather than keeping them locked in his chest.

“You know something I do not,” Ferdinand states, a sideways smirk on his lips.

“Well, you’ll find out tomorrow, won’t you?”

* * *

The last time they celebrated the 14th together, Hubert almost kissed Ferdinand outside of his bedroom.

It was the type of memory that only resurfaced at the most inconvenient times: Ferdinand catching his eyes across a meeting table, Ferdinand’s hand brushing against his, the moment after a soldier falls off of Ferdinand’s lance and he slices it out to clear off the extra blood. And, of course, right now, as they approach their scarlet oak tree.

Ferdinand’s hair has grown since then, but the rest of him has, too. He’s taller now, and the muscles in him that were once lean and humble have started to bulk and brag. Though they are inactive now, Hubert has seen the way Ferdinand’s shoulders stretch and bulge, the tight glide up his arms and down his back. Watching Ferdinand has always been annoying, but now it is almost unbearable.

Ferdinand stops suddenly when he sees the tree, whipping back to Hubert. “What…?”

Hubert can’t hide his smirk. “It is more resilient than it looks.”

“But it…I saw it catch flame a year ago. How can it still be standing?”

“Oak wood is particularly flame-resistant. Pair that with a bit of quick thinking, and enough of it survived.” Hubert looks up to the clouds gathering, not quite black enough to snow, but gray enough to threaten it. “Sadly it has a rather nasty charring along the scorched side.”

Ferdinand’s face grows odd, introspective. Hubert watches the dark-honey eyebrows furrowing and the corners of the plush lips frowning. That damned memory from two years ago flares up in his throat and pierces him like a dagger.

Hubert strides towards the hill, plucking out the dagger and discarding it. He’s always known that some memories hurt, that some of them are more violent than the sharpest axes. But before Ferdinand, he hadn’t known the same memory could take on different shapes, at one moment a warming fire and the next a blazing inferno.

Ferdinand chases after him, catches up easily, and only pants slightly heavier as they climb. When they reach the top, Hubert rests a hand on the tree for balance as he catches his breath, which spurs another odd look from Ferdinand. It’s unsettling. Normally Ferdinand voices the mildest of concerns the moment they arise. What is he holding back for?

Ferdinand blinks, and the look is gone. “I have to tell you, it is wonderful to be out here again. I have missed this place.” He admires the view, the sloping mountains and the gray clouds crowding in. “Although, it does make me wish I had prepared something a touch more fitting for such a grand view.”

Hubert thinks to the coil of cloth he has carefully hidden in his breast pocket. He agrees. Had there not been a war on—no, realistically, had Hubert been more assured—he would have prepared two pots, cups, and a few sweets. Coffee is difficult to secure now, but he’s rationed out enough to last him another year. And Ferdinand would have been worth it.

The thought constricts Hubert like a snake. One moment, he is wishing he had invested more of his time into this. The next, he despises how much he has invested. Which is it? Does he want to give up on this or not?

Thankfully, Ferdinand spares him from having to analyze any further. He pats at an awkward protrusion in his chest, clearly some kind of pack underneath his coat. That’s another part of Ferdinand that has grown spectacularly: his chest.

“Keeping secrets?” Hubert says as he stands upright.

Ferdinand rolls his eyes. “I do not believe _you_ of all people are allowed to comment in such a manner.”

“Surely that isn’t for me.”

Ferdinand swallows. “I was thinking on my faux pas three years ago, and, well…” He untucks the bundle from his coat and holds it out. It’s a brown paper bag, enough to fill Ferdinand’s palm. “I scoured many markets, but not one merchant had a single coffee bean. Trade is difficult at the moment. Instead of coffee, knowing your personal supply must be running short, I asked one merchant if he possessed any teas that coffee-drinkers would not detest. He suggested this.”

Hubert stares at the lettering penned on the bag. “Cinnamon?”

“I did not know at the time if he was making a sound suggestion or if he simply wished to oust his merchandise. Judging by your expression, I am inclined to believe the latter. You do not have to accept it.”

Ferdinand moves to tuck the satchel back into his coat, but Hubert plucks it from his hand before he can. “Of course I’ll accept it,” he says.

Ferdinand blushes. “If you find the flavor disagreeable, please toss it.”

“Certainly not. I could never toss a gift from you.”

“A-ah,” Ferdinand says, looking towards the tree roots behind Hubert’s feet.

“I have a gift for you as well.” Hubert reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out the pale green ribbon. If Ferdinand asks, it was the only color they had available. But the truth is, the color matches the shine of his crest during battle. Not that Hubert has been paying particular attention. It’d be hard not to notice, the way Ferdinand charges in as if nothing will touch him, dealing precise blows before the enemy has a chance to move, hair streaming behind him as he lunges.

Ferdinand stares at the fabric in Hubert’s palm. “Is it not to your liking?” Hubert asks.

Ferdinand shakes his head. “Far from it,” he tells him. “The color is exquisite. My favorite, in fact. You see, it is…” He bites his bottom lip, plump and luscious underneath his teeth. “It is the color of your eyes.”

Hubert sucks in a breath. There’s almost too much to unpack, buried underneath those simple words. The fact that Ferdinand all but confessed to loving Hubert’s eyes, the fact that he pays attention to the small details like what Hubert smells like and what color his eyes are, the fact that Ferdinand said it with such shy tenacity that it made Hubert’s head spin.

Then Ferdinand looks up to Hubert, smiling. Hubert knows at least six poisons that increase your heartrate, but Ferdinand’s smile, brighter than the sun, puts each and every one of those to shame. If he could bottle Ferdinand’s smile, why, they’d have armies to their knees within hours. They could win the war in a day.

“It is embarrassing,” Ferdinand begins, that poisonous sunshine-smile still etched on his face. “My hair has been long enough to tie back for at least a year now and I had not even considered the notion until this very moment.” He laughs at himself, and shakes his head. The loose curls spin out around him as he does. “Petra will comment that I should braid it, but I lack both the knowledge and the technique. I fear even a simple gathering at the base of my neck would be too complicated.”

His humility is a far cry from the impertinent brat Hubert met on their first day at Garreg Mach. It’s a good look for him—rationality, objectivity—but it reminds Hubert of a starved, bloodshot Ferdinand that he forced sweet rolls into two years ago.

“Allow me,” Hubert offers. Ferdinand stiffens, inhaling through his nose, but he nods. Hubert gingerly reaches for his hair, the first time he’s ever allowed himself to touch it, and curses the gloves on his hands. Even still, his hair is thick and light, color like wings of a monarch butterfly. Hubert stifles the urge to seize entire fistfuls of it and bury his face in it as he gathers up sections of Ferdinand’s hair.

He steps around behind Ferdinand so he can have a proper angle. He separates the hair into three, parsing it through his fingers, and begins weaving. Once he reaches the ends, he procures the ribbon and fastens it into a long, draping bow.

Ferdinand reaches a hand to his hair, runs his fingers along the bumps in the braid. He finds the ribbon, slides it in between his fingers gently so as not to undo it.

“Thank you,” Ferdinand says. He runs his hand along the braid again, rolls out his shoulders, feels the way the weight of his hair has shifted. “Alas, I cannot see it. Tell me, how does it look?”

He tilts his head from side to side, spinning out his hair like an arc of water droplets radiating out from him. There is never very much sunlight during the Pegasus Moon, but every drop of it gracing the earth is soaked up by Ferdinand’s hair. And the braid, neat plaiting done by Hubert’s own hands, tied with a ribbon that matches Hubert’s eyes.

_Divine. Ethereal._

“Fitting for the 14th of Pegasus Moon, I should think,” Hubert says instead, turning away. Looking into direct sunlight isn’t healthy.

“I should have known better than to try and wrangle a compliment out of you, Master of Shadows,” Ferdinand says wryly.

But it _was_ a compliment. As true as Hubert could give in the moment, dizzy from the intense sunlight that didn’t come from the sky. Perhaps this is why Ferdinand wished to end their relationship. Perhaps the true reason he didn’t kiss him two years ago was simply because he didn’t want to. Perhaps he regretted every moment of this, and only hadn’t ended it because he was so busy.

“Do you know,” Ferdinand begins, interrupting Hubert’s thoughts. “My father never did anything for my mother for the 14th of Pegasus Moon. Never once, not even before they were courting when he was wooing her.” Ferdinand lets out a laugh that sounds like a sigh, and looks down to his hand, shaking his head. “And to think, I almost…last year, and the year before…”

Hubert places his hand on Ferdinand’s shoulder. He feels Ferdinand stiffen underneath. Hubert pretends it doesn’t bother him.

“We’ve been at war, Ferdinand. Two years ago I feared you would work yourself straight into a coffin, and last year I thought you’d leap into one. I am just relieved that…that you’re here, now. Alive.”

Ferdinand smiles at him, but he has a troubled look on his face. As if this wasn’t how he’d intended the conversation to go. The thought seizes Hubert’s throat, compels him forwards.

“And aside from that,” he continues, “I believe I am rather beyond wooing.”

Ferdinand’s eyes widen. “B-beyond it?”

Hubert’s hand falls off Ferdinand’s shoulder. “Does this surprise you?”

“I had presumed…” Ferdinand shakes his head. “I suppose I ought to stop presuming and ask you outright: how do you care for romance?”

A test. Hubert swallows. “If you had asked me that question three years ago, I would have told you I cared not for it in the slightest. But I do believe things have begun to change.”

“Change, you say.” Ferdinand is still flushed. “In what way?”

Hubert crosses his arms. “Telling you would be far less amusing than watching you attempt to discover it for yourself.”

He expects Ferdinand to laugh, to shake his head and roll his eyes in an exasperated but good-hearted way, the way Ferdinand always does. He can practically hear an insult, perhaps the words _Insufferable shadow,_ slipping out of Ferdinand’s lips, and finds his eyes drawn to them.

But Ferdinand’s lips turn into a frown.

“Hubert how you vex me,” he mutters.

Hubert, the cold-blooded killer, feels his blood run cold.

“You are the most vexing man alive, Hubert von Vestra. I am…I am at my wit’s end,” Ferdinand cries, turning his back and pacing away, braid and ribbon swinging as he does. He paces as he thinks, Hubert knows, but he also knows there isn’t much more to think about. 

“I understand. But,” Hubert clenches his fist, feeling the fabric crushed in his palm. “…please, tell me why.”

“Why you are so vexing? You tell me you are beyond wooing one moment, and then the next you are telling me you are interested in romance. I haven’t a clue what you want!”

“Thus…?”

“Thus,” Ferdinand begins. He sucks in a large breath. “You leave me no choice.”

Hubert closes his eyes. He’s been expecting this, he knew it was only a matter of time before Ferdinand became dissatisfied with him. He should consider himself lucky for having Ferdinand as long as he did, for having had Ferdinand at all. And really, he shouldn’t be upset. Far worse things have happened to him, and likely far worse things are to come. And tools for the Emperor shouldn’t have courtships, anyways. This would be good for Hubert.

None of that eases the stinging ache in his heart.

He hears Ferdinand shuffle closer and braces himself for the worst.

Instead, he feels the softest pressure against his lips.

His eyes fly open, and there’s Ferdinand, leaning forward, cold and slightly chapped lips pressed against his.

Flaming Saints, he was expecting Ferdinand to slap him. He prepared for the sound of the wind up, the rush of air, the sting of his hand on his cheek. He prepared for Ferdinand to dive into a list of every single one of Hubert’s flaws, to categorically and rationally debate every reason the two of them were doomed to fail. Hubert’s priority to Lady Edelgard, the war, their backgrounds, Hubert’s secrets, Hubert’s demeanor, his sarcasm and his lack of affection and his inadequacy. Hubert would have nodded along as Ferdinand went through the list, agreeing with him on every point. They would find a way to make battling beside one another still possible and agree that it had been a foolish idea from the start and it was no one’s fault.

But instead, Ferdinand is _kissing_ him.

Ferdinand senses Hubert’s unease, opens his eyes, and sees Hubert’s eyes already open. He jumps back, face alight with bright red. “Aah, forgive me, I should have asked first, do you wan- _mmm._ ”

Hubert snatches the words from Ferdinand’s lips.

Hubert’s arm snakes around Ferdinand’s back, pressing their chests together. Ferdinand surges against him, a pretty moan slipping out of his mouth. Ferdinand’s hands come up to caress Hubert’s cheeks, sliding to the back of his neck and tugging on the short hairs. Hubert’s other hand holds the back of Ferdinand’s head, feeling the braid in his palm.

Ferdinand’s technique is deplorable, all lip and too much chin, but Hubert finds he does not care. As he discovers, the operative word in the term “Ferdinand’s technique” is most decidedly _Ferdinand,_ and that alone makes up for everything else. His lips press against Hubert with the same fervor he holds his lance, if not with the same precision. His breath comes hot and quick, panning out all across Hubert’s mouth, spreading across his chin and up to his nose before evaporating in the winter air.

Perhaps predictably, Ferdinand runs out of air and pulls back a bit. His cheeks are flushed, freckles cushioned by red velvet. His eyes look at Hubert the same way they look at his favorite weapons or horses or opera performances: unparalleled joy.

“I have been wanting to do that for a while,” Ferdinand pants.

“Flames, Ferdinand, you should have done so sooner.”

“I wanted to,” he admits. Hubert feels the fear frosting his heart beginning to melt. It terrifies him. “I wanted to kiss you two years ago to the date. But I…Goddess, I was so frightened. I could not think of what I would do after the kiss.”

“After?” Hubert asks. He licks his lips. “You could have done something like this.”

He cups Ferdinand’s chin and tilts their lips together. Then, Hubert slips his tongue between their lips. Ferdinand’s inhale is so sharp that Hubert can feel the air graze past his tongue, and he worries for a moment he’s ruined everything again, but then Ferdinand’s hands latch onto Hubert’s shoulders and he moans around him. Hubert pushes deeper, feeling Ferdinand’s mouth, the slick heat and passion pouring out of him.

He cups a hand to the back of Ferdinand’s knee, lifting it, letting gravity press them together. Another moan. Ferdinand begins to feel Hubert’s rhythm, a pulse he matches himself to. He rakes a few fingers through Hubert’s bangs, pulling them all the way back across his scalp and letting them tumble back down. The motion sends a rush of blood coursing through Hubert. Ferdinand is already improving. If he is as diligent in improving his kisses as he is everything else in his life, well, Hubert shivers at the prospect.

When they pull apart, Ferdinand breathes out: “ _Goddess.”_ His eyes are half-lidded, and he looks like autumn: every part of him either glowing a bright auburn or bleeding a deep scarlet.

“Again?” Hubert asks.

Ferdinand laughs. “No, not yet. I think I—I need to sit down.” He flumps onto the dirt ignobly. A mildly cruel part of Hubert (he has several parts of him that vary in their cruelty) wonders what Ludwig von Aegir’s face would have looked like, seeing his son planting trees and collapsing onto dirt. Knowing his son was snogging the Emperor’s vassal and moaning sinful sounds around his tongue.

“If you would like to do that again, you need only ask,” says Hubert.

Ferdinand shivers. Hubert doesn’t know if it is from the cold or from his desire. “Th-thank you,” Ferdinand forces. Hubert chuckles. “Can I take this to mean, then, that…you, well.” Ferdinand laughs, and tries again. “Would you enter a courtship with me? I realize we have skipped over several steps.”

Hubert laughs. “Your sense of humor has improved greatly.”

“Sense of humor?”

Hubert shuffles to sit down next to Ferdinand. A winter breeze blows by, cooling his burning skin. “It seems ridiculous in hindsight, but the truth is…I was terrified you wished to end our courtship. Who would have thought I’d grow so attached to it?”

“Huh?”

The fear on Hubert’s heart re-freezes. It’s both a comfort and a terror. “Are you…upset that I am attached to our courtship?”

Ferdinand’s eyes skirt up and down him. “You mean…the one we just formed?”

“No,” Hubert says, brows furrowed. “The one we’ve been in for three years.”

“The _what!?_ ”

Dread crashes over Hubert. “Were you not…aware?”

“Wait, wait a moment. This is hurting my head.” Ferdinand clutches his forehead. “You believe we’ve been courting for…three years?”

“Yes?”

“ _Three years!?_ ”

Hubert von Vestra is accustomed to many uncomfortable sensations: another’s blood, tortured screams, innocents perishing. But the sensation that pummels into him now is exceedingly foreign, sharing borders with mortification and panic. “You didn’t realize? You mean to tell me we weren’t?

“Whatever gave you the impression that we _were_!?”

“But you—you said—you had said—you invited me to tea in your bedroom!” Hubert counters. He remembers Ferdinand’s offer, when he held out his hand and asked Hubert to begin their relationship anew, to shape it this time with care and affection. Had Ferdinand said all of that and intended only friendship?

“It was too cold to have it outside!” Ferdinand protests. “Would you have preferred we took tea on the hallway floors?”

“You said…at the tea, you said…” Hubert remembered it vividly, the exact words, the hands gesturing intently, the determination flaring in Ferdinand’s eyes: _This is the start of our brand new relationship! I wish for you to remember this date for years to come_. Could it be possible that Hubert had completely misconstrued that?

Ferdinand shakes his head. “You told me you were beyond wooing, that there would be no purpose, that such a feat was impossible.”

“It should be!” Hubert agrees. “Yet I am beyond it because you have already—!” Hubert snaps his mouth shut. He’s already plunged his tongue into Ferdinand’s mouth, but that somehow feels far less intimate than saying, _You’ve already wooed me, you imbecile. I am already yours._ He’d rather just plunge his tongue back in now; at least he’d know what he was doing again. Or press a noxious handkerchief to Ferdinand’s mouth and erase his memories of today. He hates himself for not having the willpower to do so. He hates Ferdinand for taking it away from him.

“I have already what, Hubert?”

Hubert pulls a knee up, settles his elbow on it, clutches his forehead. “I feel like a damned fool.”

Ferdinand looks down towards the ground, toys with the end of his coat nervously. “Um, Hubert…have you…have you fancied me for three years?”

_No. Longer._

“Y-yes,” he admits. The word hurts as he says it.

Ferdinand jolts at the sound. “All this time? Since we planted our tree?”

“If your intent was to make me feel more foolish, you are doing a spectacular job of it.”

“Forgive me,” Ferdinand says. He sounds earnest. Hubert hates that he likes it. “How much simpler this all would have been,” Ferdinand muses, shaking his head. “I have spent the better part of this past year mulling over how to confess to you. Had I known, I could have saved myself a great deal of distress!”

“I had assumed we were keeping it secret,” Hubert says. “Still, your actions and words were rather bold. I fail to see how you could not have known.”

“We have not done much in the ways of courtly activities,” Ferdinand defends.

“We planted a _scarlet oak tree_ together!”

“I thought that was a gesture of friendship!”

“A gesture of—no wonder the damned thing burned down!”

“That—not all of it burned down!” Ferdinand insists. He scrambles to his feet, marches over, and plants a hand on the bark. “It lived. You kept it alive. You never even told me…for a whole year you kept it alive all on your own.” Ferdinand’s hand curls as he runs his knuckles along the scarred parts of the bark, caressing it softly.

“Forgive me,” Hubert says, looking away. “This entire transgression has left me feeling intensely foolish.”

“This whole time…” Ferdinand trails off. Hubert agrees. _This whole time._

Ferdinand allows his hand to linger, still caressing the bark, and lets his hand skate up to the new branches. He rolls the twigs in between his fingers. “No more,” he announces softly.

“Pardon?”

“No more,” Ferdinand repeats. He turns to face Hubert. “You will not feel foolish any longer. You will no longer take care of this tree on your own. Even if we cannot care for it at once, from here on out, we will care for it together.”

There isn’t much sunlight today, and all of it is stolen by Ferdinand’s hair. The cold snow melts away around them, and there’s Ferdinand, standing by their tree, Hubert’s pale ribbon tied in his hair, an incredulous look on his face. Hubert’s expression must mirror his, surely. He can’t be certain who is more shocked by today’s turn of events.

“I suppose I should speak more clearly,” Ferdinand muses with a laugh. “Hubert von Vestra, I fancy you terribly and would love nothing more than to court you.”

Hubert’s head spins. Ferdinand never wished to break things off. He hadn’t thought there were things to break off between them in the first place. Instead, he wants now what Hubert thought he wanted three years ago. He wants Hubert to want it, as well.

Ferdinand is smiling gently at him, face still red, lips plump and swollen. Hubert’s heart hammers in his chest, the frost protecting it completely melted. No one terrifies him more than Ferdinand von Aegir.

“You already know my answer. It is much unchanged from three years ago.” A part of Hubert wants to say more, another part wants to say less. He settles for disappointing both parts, hoping it will satisfy Ferdinand.

It does. Ferdinand kneels before Hubert, pushes aside his bangs. At this arrangement, Hubert sitting on the hill and Ferdinand kneeling, Ferdinand is taller. It stirs something in Hubert’s chest, his stomach.

“May I kiss you again?” Ferdinand asks. “The first way, not the second.”

Hubert smirks. “Gently.”

“But I am overflowing with excitement! How am I to be gentle?”

“Are you telling me you’re incapable?”

Ferdinand smirks, and shakes his head. He takes a deep breath and expels it across the meager air between them. He wavers, willing himself to slow, but it isn’t effective. Hubert closes the gap for him, captures his mouth, and guides Ferdinand through. Hubert pushes away his shame and fear and chooses only to focus on Ferdinand. It is far easier than he expects. He hopes it always will be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rainbow: It took them four years but finally they smooched. I hope it was worth the wait! These two are just so stupid but we love them for it. This marks the final chapter of their pining phase, which will be replaced with their horny phase. Not that they weren't a little horny before (nor that they won't continue to pine in the future). 
> 
> El: Ahhhh They did it! They kissed! They're courting (OMG they're courting). Dear reader please give yourself a pat on the back for dealing with these dumb idiots for four years. I can't promise they get less dumb unfortunately. But the character growth they've both done has me so soft and this bit in particular was hilarious to plot


	4. 1185: A First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after they sort out that dreadful miscommunication, Ferdinand makes plans to show Hubert how much he means to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to the five people who peer pressured me into adding smut to this chapter. Y'all know who you are.  
> CWs: Scars, Sexual Content, No onscreen positions but heavily coded top dom Hubert
> 
> Ferdie's [riding boots](https://www.equus.co.uk/products/busse-laval-riding-boots-blue?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=shopping&dfw_tracker=29461-31586180366379&gclid=CjwKCAiAyc2BBhAaEiwA44-wW9fddxkAFA_FIZW0VyH7vW_x0ydp2NV4VU8g576QmVQwGBfL7x2IjhoCJ6UQAvD_BwE)

**14th of the Pegasus Moon, 1185**

It was to be the first 14th of the Pegasus Moon they spent together since they straightened out that dreadful miscommunication business and Ferdinand could not be happier.

The past year had been _wonderful._ They shared so many dates: tea in the gardens, picnics in the sun, moonlit walks where silvery light reflected like the glint of a knife off Hubert’s sharp cheekbones, and a disastrous riding experience which ended in the infirmary that neither of them would soon forget. And the gifts! All manner of rare teas from faraway lands, bouquets of flowers wrapped in pretty ribbons for his hair, whetstones and the most beautiful pair of calf high riding boots in a supple blue leather smart enough to be worn with his formal attire.

A lot had changed since that dark year when Ferdinand lost track of time and forgot the date. It seemed like they had been stumbling through their courtship half blind, doing everything out of order. Not today, though, for Ferdinand knows what he wants to come of today and he has a plan to make it happen. They had already planted a scarlet oak together at Hubert’s suggestion; this year, Ferdinand wants them to whittle spoons from branches of their beloved oak. It is an important, if now forgotten, Pegasus Celebration tradition. It definitely is not an excuse for him to watch Hubert’s long, deft fingers at work. Fingers that plague his every waking minute, and some sleeping ones as well. For the past month, he spent every free moment practicing woodworking in secret with Petra. When they started, he could barely hold the tools correctly, but in their last session he had managed to demonstrate perfect mastery of the skills he would need for Hubert’s spoon.

The design had come to him one afternoon in the rose garden. Staring into those glittering serpentine eyes over a cup of southern fruit blend, Ferdinand saw the spoon take shape in his mind and he worked tirelessly to ensure he would be able to create a gift that could adequately convey the depth of his feelings for Hubert.

Ferdinand rises with the chime of the fifth bell, an hour earlier than usual. He pulls a loose white shirt over his head, tucking it into a pair of navy blue brais. Forgoing the usual riding jacket, he instead dons a fitted red and blue coat with golden buttons and detailing, finishing the look off with his blue boots.

He has no intentions of joining Rocinante for their usual morning ride. _Sorry, my magnificent girl. I shall make it up to you tomorrow, but today is for Hubert._ Sitting at his desk, he pulls the closest report, provisional trade agreements between a united Fódlan and the country of Brigid, towards him. If he works hard, all urgent matters can be dealt with by mid afternoon.

His draft proposal for educational reform will have to wait until tomorrow as well, although Ferdinand desires Hubert’s input on the role orphanages should play and an unbiased opinion on the importance of equine studies to a person’s general education. _I should possibly ask Dorothea or Petra for an_ **impartial** _opinion,_ Ferdinand muses as he amends the equivalency numbers—a barrel of rum is easily worth one barrel of the Faerghan potato-based liquor, but the value of one kilo of sugar cane compared to a barrel of ale eludes him. Wheat is a staple crop that grows poorly in the warm Brigid climate, yet it is inexpensive. How much would they have to part with to match the worth of sugar? If only he could use a barrel of vintage Aegir wine as a standard point of comparison.

By lunch time, Ferdinand has the sort of fearsome headache one would expect after a night spent drinking a bottle of 1103 Aegir red without any of the fun, but his day’s work is finished and he has gained precious extra hours to spend with Hubert. On his walk to the dining room, the corner of his mouth curls upwards involuntarily at the idea.

Dorothea’s sonorous voice drags him out of his daydreams. “Ferdie, you’re grinning like a madman. Excited for your plans with Hubie, perhaps?”

“I am just pleased to have completed my work for the day, that is all. My Lady,” Ferdinand bows to Edelgard, as is courtesy, and inclines his head at Dorothea. Pleasantries dealt with, he glances around the room for a sign of the broody dark mage. There is no sight of him anywhere.

“Stop pouting, Ferdinand. He is still working in his room.” Edelgard rolls her eyes at him. “Although you would be doing me a favor if you could do what he did for you that year and take him food. Try and make him go outside, Dorothea believed Death himself brought us breakfast this morning. He is paler than Linhardt.”

He nods, excusing himself to gather an assortment of breads, meats, cheeses and a sprig of grapes, artfully arranged on two plates he carries to Hubert’s room. Ferdinand kicks the door gently twice. “It is I, my darkness, but my hands are rather full. Please open the door for me?”

Ferdinand hears the latch and the creak of hinges as the door swings open to reveal so much black. He had grown somewhat during the past years, but Hubert still found a way to tower over him. It sets Ferdinand’s heart beating faster than an Adrestian waltz. Hubert returns swiftly to his desk, ever the workaholic. Ferdinand lingers in the doorway, simply watching Hubert, allowing the overwhelming tide of his emotions to wash over him. A younger version of himself would have preferred death to spending a second longer in Hubert’s company than necessary. These days, Ferdinand often finds himself manufacturing excuses to spend more time with him. To run his fingers along Hubert’s hair line, tucking that bothersome fringe back so he can drink in those pale green eyes. To brush their lips together, holding for longer than is proper because he cannot bear the thought of them parting. To relax into the warmth of Hubert’s big hands, enveloped in strong arms and held tight against his rigid, hard form. To feel the press of their bodies together—

“Hmm. Come in, close the door, and tell me why you are suddenly the same color as a tomato?”

Blushing deeper, Ferdinand obeys. He sets their lunch down on Hubert’s desk and spies an empty coffee cup. “I missed you at lunch; I wished to discuss the possibility of us spending the afternoon together? Do not tell me _you_ have forgotten what day it is this time?” He teases.

“How could I forget the _utter_ humiliation of last year?” Hubert reaches out to interlace their fingers. “Is that for me?” He gestures at the food with their interwoven hands.

“For the both of us. Please, finish what you are working on and I shall refill your coffee cup for when we eat.”

“Is that really wise, Ferdinand? You are good at a great many things but making coffee is not one of them.”

Ferdinand pulls his hand back to place on his hip. “I have been practicing you know! Here, I will prove to you that I can make that accursed beverage to your unattainable standards!” With a huff, he sets about brewing a mug of coffee. “When this is done, you _will_ stop working for the day, won’t you, Hubert?”

The non-committal hum he gets in response makes Ferdinand more determined to make the perfect cup of coffee so he can tempt Hubert away from his work. It is their day. They have to spend it together. Ferdinand has to show Hubert the full depths of his feelings, for his own health if nothing else. When he is around the insufferable shadow, his heart is so full it could burst. When they are apart, his chest constricts like a hand is squeezing around his heart. Only slender, gloved fingers cupping his face or interlaced with his own can ease the ache that sets in.

Holding his coffee hostage to get Hubert’s full attention is something Ferdinand is not proud to admit he has done multiple times, but it always proves to be a very effective strategy. “Lady Edelgard already informed me that you have no meetings this afternoon. Do not try to claim you cannot make time for me!”

Hubert’s dark, rich chuckle fills the room. Much like the chocolate from Brigid Petra gifts them, yet it lacks the bitterness. How far they have come since their days bickering over everything and nothing. It gives Ferdinand hope for the future they can build as Edelgard’s ministers.

“What, Hubert?”

Tired eyes look at him sternly. “You are every bit as demanding and high maintenance to court as I expected. Hindsight reveals me to be a fool for thinking we were in a courtship all those years. I could be forgiven for missing them.”

Years ago, Ferdinand would have misinterpreted the half scowl, half sneer on Hubert’s face. Now he can spot the signs of Hubert toying with him.

“Hmph. Have your coffee, you terrible man!” Ferdinand playfully slams the cup down, not one to be outdone, and rests against the desk. Their eyes meet as Hubert brings the cup to his lips and a calm, contented smile graces his features. Ferdinand would trade his name, absolutely everything he owns, and the newfound high esteem Edelgard holds him in for more glimpses of it.

Ferdinand watches Hubert’s lips while he takes the first sip, recalling how good they feel on his own. On the rare occasions hands have wandered during chaste kisses, Ferdinand’s skin has blazed under the featherlight touches. Would he feel that same burning if those lips were on his neck? His chest? His hips? His—

“Are you trying to poison me?” Hubert half coughs, half wheezes. _“Flames,_ Ferdinand. That is _awful.”_

“If I truly wished you dead, Hubert, I can think of many ways better suited to my talents than poison. No, I shall leave the poisonings to you, venomous snake that you are.”

“It’s different—never mind,” Hubert mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. His chest rises and falls dramatically with a deep sigh, before he relents. “What are we doing today? I am very busy, as you can see,” he gestures at the reports on the desk, “and I am not sure I can spare the time for you now.”

Ferdinand tries not to let his disappointment show. He knows there are things Hubert keeps from Edelgard, reasons his schedule might not be as clear as she believes it to be.

“Don’t pout when I’m powerless to kiss it away, Ferdinand. It’s most distracting.”

“I shall pout when the man I am courting tells me he cannot spare time for me on a day as important as this one. It is not just the Pegasus Celebration, but our anniversary as well.”

“I had not forgotten, Ferdinand. I intended to make it up to you later…” Hubert’s hand comes to rest halfway up Ferdinand’s thigh as his voice trails off. A devilish grin peeks out from behind the styled curtain of coal black hair and _saints,_ does that combination do something to him.

Summers in Aegir territory are warm enough to color Ferdinand’s skin year round but he has never known heat like this before. He swallows, tugging at his too-tight collar, looking around for a distraction. Ferdinand is grateful for the solid wood of the desk underneath him. “Weak at the knees” is not something Ferdinand ever thought he would feel himself but he is not sure his legs would have supported him in this state. Yet he is strong of will regardless and he is here for a reason.

_What was it, again?_

“You have to eat, Hubert.” The words bring back bittersweet memories of a kindness in darker times, a kiss that never happened, the first one that did.

“When I finish actioning this report. A Kingdom spy was discovered in my own battalion.”

Ferdinand crosses his legs gracefully, pulling his thigh out from underneath Hubert’s slender fingers. Thin, black brows pull together as Hubert frowns and tears off a chunk of bread. He goes to wash it down with a gulp of coffee and makes a face, setting the cup down further away. Ferdinand enjoys observing Hubert in all his splendor: looming over Edelgard’s shoulder, fiercely displaying his magical prowess on the battlefield, gracefully slinking through the shadows in a manner that has Ferdinand desperately trying to convince Edelgard to let him throw a ball. However, he enjoys moments like this—where the man in front of him is just Hubert, not von Vestra, spy, assassin, and Minister of the Imperial Household—the most. He longs to share more of them when the war is over. Whenever that will be.

“Are you going to sit there and watch like some smothering nursemaid?”

“No,” Ferdinand replies with a grin devilish enough to match the one Hubert gave him earlier. “I’m going to feed you instead.”

He pulls some of the chicken from the bone and presses it against cold, pale lips. Hubert glares daggers at him but opens his mouth, allowing Ferdinand to push the morsel in. His fingers linger against Hubert’s lips, tracing the outline of them. He is almost obsessed with them; they have fast become his favorite part of Hubert. Aside from his sharp wit. Without warning, Hubert surges forwards, capturing his fingers in that warm heat and sucks on them, pulling back with a sly curve to his mouth. Ferdinand jerks away as if shocked by a bolt of thoron. He forces himself to look at Hubert and not glance at the bed behind him.

“I _do_ need some time to fix this spy issue, but I shall meet you before the next bell in the usual place?”

Ferdinand merely nods, entirely unable to speak after such a lewd display.

* * *

“What are these?” Hubert gestures at the hand gouges Ferdinand laid out while waiting for him to turn up.

“Ah, they are woodworking tools. We already have a scarlet oak tree, therefore I wanted to ask you to partake in another Pegasus Celebration tradition with me,” Ferdinand says.

“Since when has torture been a Pegasus Celebration tradition?”

“Oh Hubert. No, they are woodworking tools. For carving—spoons.” Ferdinand refuses to meet Hubert’s eye, hoping the repetition did not give away his nerves. Scarlet oaks are common knowledge. As a result of this tradition falling out of fashion in the 800’s the spoons, and the true meaning behind them, are not. Before he loses his nerve, Ferdinand places a plain wooden spoon into Hubert’s hand.

“Ordinarily we would shape the spoon ourselves from the wood, but I knew you would be busy and carved the basic shapes ahead of time. I made them from branches of our oak tree. We will use the gouges to add detailing on the handles and exchange them when we are done.”

Hubert just stares at him. Ferdinand had gotten quite good at reading Hubert over the past year, but the lone visible eye staring at him was oddly impassive in a way Hubert had not been with him since their Academy days. _Does he know the true meaning of the spoons?_

“I would encourage you to keep your design simple, as you are not practiced with woodcarving—”

“A bold assumption of you to make, Ferdinand. I thought you were past such things.”

He was meant to be past such things. Ferdinand’s gaze drops to his blank spoon as he turns it over in his hands. He inhales deeply through his nose, exhales gently from his mouth. The wood is mostly smooth, but ridges from the grain stand out and unfinished corners catch as he runs his fingers over them.

The warmth of Hubert’s side pressing into his brings Ferdinand out of his thoughts. “Show me,” Hubert asks softly.

Ferdinand picks up one of the medium sized gouges. “When you have your design, you just dig the tool into the wood like so to shape it.” He pushes it in, feeling the wood give. “You can guide it by hand to make curves or straight lines. The smaller tools can be used to add markings. Other than that, the important thing is to carve away from yourself.”

“That seems prudent to avoid injury. Especially as it is my first time carving,” says Hubert.

“Indeed!” Ferdinand exclaims a little too loudly. Neither of them says anything for a good minute. Hubert reaches forwards to grab some tools and begins on his spoon. The gentle rustling of leaves in a breeze, occasional bird calls and the scrape of metal on wood are the only sounds as they work. Interlocking coils and scale detailing had been challenging to learn but Ferdinand lets muscle memory take over, and slowly the spoon transforms from a block of wood into a masterpiece.

In days long since past, courting couples would carve symbols into the spoons and exchange them as tokens of their affection. Spoons were considered a way to communicate one’s true feelings without using words. The wood represents growth, and there are all manner of symbols typically carved into them—horseshoes for luck, hearts for love, bells for marriage, locks for security, twisted stems for two becoming one, and chain links for loyalty and faithfulness. Each spoon is a labor of love designed to reflect the skill of the carver, and their worth as a partner.

A spoon is a declaration of intent. It announces a desire for something _more,_ demonstrates a willingness to prove oneself worthy. Exchanging them is not done lightly. They are considered a commitment of sorts.

The tradition was mostly abandoned following an incident in the 800’s where the Emperor at the time discovered love spoons he had not crafted in his consorts’ chambers leading to a nasty period of political unrest.

Ferdinand can’t resist the opportunity to sneak looks at Hubert’s progress. Each movement he makes is meticulous and deliberate. Hubert seems to apply the perfect amount of pressure each time, the shavings curling up to fall on the floor. Everything about him is usually so calculated, planned out far in advance with multiple back up plans if it falls through. Now, when Hubert digs the gouge in too much, the imperfection is permanently marked into the spoon. Rarely is evidence of Hubert’s mistakes allowed to survive, making it much more precious.

Then there is Hubert himself. Vexing. Insufferable. Opinionated. Doting. Caring. Handsome. _Beloved._

Because Ferdinand does love Hubert. Has for some time now. He doesn’t know exactly when it started. Unlike the romance novels he likes to read, there wasn’t one big moment, but a series of little ones. Receiving a green ribbon, and blue riding boots. Hubert petting his horse for finding him after Ferdinand was unseated in a battle. Feeling relief flood his veins after watching Hubert narrowly survive a deadly attack in battle. Kissing in the rain, hair plastered to their faces, hiding under the shelter of their scarlet oak.

All the big and small moments combined together and built up inside of him, hidden behind a dam of concern that Hubert did not feel his affections so deeply. Unfortunately, their exchange this morning forced a weakness in the dam and the sight of Hubert with a contented smile on his face, enjoying the simple pleasures of woodwork, crafting a lover’s spoon for _him_ was proving to be too much. The unrelenting tide of his emotions smashed at the dam again, demanding to be released. For those words to be spoken into the world.

“Hubert?”

“Patience, Ferdinand. I am nearly done.”

Having patience when the roiling tempest of emotions crashed against his self control was near impossible. With his legs crossed, it is difficult for Ferdinand to expel the excess energy with swinging legs, or a bouncing knee, or a tapping foot. Instead he must sit still, in complete silence except for the rushing of blood in his ears, and wait.

Knuckles stroke the side of his face. Ferdinand turns to find Hubert looking at his lap, tools abandoned. _Oh._ But—no, he is looking at the spoon. Hubert plucks it from the ground and studies it intently. This is all wrong, they are supposed to gift them to each other. Ferdinand labored for weeks to craft the perfect words he wanted to use when presenting the spoon.

In the moment, Ferdinand knows in his heart that it does not matter.

“Do you like it? I was struck by just how much your eyes remind me of a snake’s, and in your letters you often liken me to the sunlight.” Ferdinand had worked diligently with Petra to be able to carve this. Two snakes coiled tightly around each other, scales meticulously etched into their skin, parted only to accommodate a sun. In the middle of it he had carved a small heart, so Hubert would know he had his.

“This is not something that just came to you, Ferdinand. The skill required, the detailing…”

Ferdinand laughs nervously, knowing Hubert would be unhappy if he tried to downplay it. “I wanted your gift to be worthy of you.”

“Yet you did not give me the opportunity to return the favor. It makes me uneasy—”

“Nonsense! It is almost perfect!” says Ferdinand, reaching for the other spoon. Taking Ferdinand’s advice, Hubert kept his design simple: three hearts of different sizes, one slightly misshapen from the slip of Hubert’s hand. “May I add to the design?”

Hubert’s eyes narrow, but he nods. Ferdinand works quickly, revealing the finished spoon with a flourish. In the first and third heart he had carved crescent moons, one facing left, the other facing right. In the middle heart is a full moon. “Look—now they are a pair! If I am like sunlight, then you must be the moon.”

“I suppose so.” Hubert’s voice is clipped, missing the cadence that feels like silk slipping over his skin. Ferdinand’s stomach sinks somewhere below his feet. His heart swells treacherously in his chest. He forces himself to take a deep breath to keep his emotions in check before looking at Hubert.

Tear tracks glisten down his face. It has been a long time since Ferdinand made a faux pas he did not know how to fix. Clearly changing the design had been a grievous error.

“Please accept my apologies, I have offended you—”

“Shut up, idiot,” Hubert mutters, his hands fisting in Ferdinand’s collar as he brings their lips together to meet. For all his urgency, Hubert’s lips are soft. Sweet. _Loving?_ Ferdinand certainly wants that to be true, but it is probably wishful thinking.

Especially as Hubert pulls away first. He does not go far though, resting his forehead into Ferdinand’s, allowing their noses to brush against each other. The cold bite of steel he would expect at his throat after seeing the Imperial Spymaster cry never comes. Instead, there is just the warmth of their intermingling breaths. The whole thing is so vulnerable, so intimate, so peaceful, Ferdinand cannot help the words that tumble from his mouth.

“I love you.”

They lack the flowery poetry he had rehearsed in his head, instead manifesting in a simple, functional sentence more Hubert’s style than his own. The unrelenting pressure that built within his chest dissipates immediately. Ferdinand breathes easier than he has in months now the words hang in the scant space between them. The air tastes so much sweeter, every place where their skin touches feels more _right,_ and Hubert—well, Ferdinand really should muster up the courage to open his eyes and look at Hubert.

Up this close, he can see the hundreds of different green hues that make up the thin band of green that rings his wide pupils. Ferdinand does not know why said pupils are not the usual narrow slits. It does not prevent them piercing his heart as Hubert stares intensely. Hubert’s fierce gaze lays him bare, exposes his very soul to the air to be seen. Ferdinand does not mind it. He _wants_ to be seen by Hubert.

“I love you,” Ferdinand repeats, holding eye contact long enough to see the hardness in Hubert’s eyes melt into what he hopes is a reflection of his own.

Love. Plain and simple, undiluted, written on his face for only Ferdinand to see.

Laughter bubbles up out of his throat, peals of childlike glee enhanced by the menacing tones of Hubert’s sharp barks until he leans forwards to swallow them with a kiss. A chaste peck turns into two, three, four. Turns into a gentle lick, an invitation to open his mouth. Turns into an opportunity to trade swirling tongues rather than barbed insults. Turns into hands fisting in hair. Turns into hands roaming, muffled moans and gasps escaping. Turns into something…else, as the minutes bleed into hours under the protection of their scarlet oak. Ferdinand has spent hours kissing Hubert in the past, but never like this. His lips are hard and unrelenting. Yet it matters not; Ferdinand has enough give for the both of them.

When Hubert’s chest pushes into his and keeps going, Ferdinand follows the direction to lie back on the grass. If the ground is cold and wet, he does not notice. Every part of him feels like it is on fire, burning for the press of Hubert against him. Each gap between them is too much. He snakes an arm around Hubert’s back and pulls him close, resisting Hubert slipping through his grip like an eel until he settles. Hubert’s eyes are trained on his, reading his face intently as he pushes a knee between Ferdinand’s legs. _Sweet Saint Cethleann._

Hubert strokes his face, remaining perfectly still. “Is this okay, Ferdinand?”

Ferdinand’s thoughts are too distracted by the feel of Hubert’s erection digging into his hip to vocalize anything other than a needy moan.

“ _Eternal flames below._ The noises you make, Ferdinand…delectable, like every part of you.” Hubert traces leather gloved fingers over his mouth, and for a second, Ferdinand wonders what they would taste like. “But I need to hear your words, Ferdinand. What do you want from me?”

“Everything,” he breathes, and something clicks within him. His hands shoot to the buckles on Hubert’s cloak, fumbling in his haste to peel away the layers and see what is underneath. A large hand pulls him away, pinning his arms off to the side.

“Tch tch tch, Ferdinand.” Hubert leans in to whisper huskily in his ear. _**“Patience.”**_ He draws back, looking predatory above him. Hunger is clear on Hubert’s face, but his actions are hesitant. Ferdinand huffs impatiently. It does not come out closer to a desperate whine.

“None of that, or I’ll leave you like this, so wound up with no release,” threatens Hubert.

Ferdinand’s hips buck at the thought. The friction of Hubert’s leg against his cock forms spots at the edge of his vision. He does not miss Hubert’s sharp inhale of breath, the flash of interest as he files the information away for later use.

Then the hunger is gone, replaced with the love and adoration from earlier. “I’ll give you what you want. How could I refuse the sun?” He leans down to plant a gentle kiss on Ferdinand’s nose. Of all the things they have done so far, that simple gesture makes Ferdinand look away in embarrassment, the color on his cheeks surely a match for the leaves above Hubert’s head. The emotions in his chest threaten to boil over again. “But first, my dear, how far do you want this to go?”

He knows he will have to use words, but in the meantime it is easier to use actions. Ferdinand pulls to free his wrists and Hubert immediately releases him. He grabs Hubert’s free hand and leads it down, down, down, over the bony protrusion of his hips and round to the curve of his ass. Lower than any religious, goddess fearing noble should.

Ferdinand sided with Edelgard and Hubert. He no longer fears the goddess.

“I want you to take me, Hubert. Have me. Make me yours,” he pants, the thought of it all already clouding his head. “Make love to me. If—if you want to, that is. Do you want to, Hubert?”

Hubert freezes above him. _Oh no, what did I do wrong?_ “No one has asked me that before,” Hubert admits, diving forwards to capture Ferdinand’s lips in a bruising kiss.

Ferdinand pulls free to hold Hubert in place with a hand against his chest. It rests above his heart. Ferdinand can feel every beat beneath his palm and somehow, it makes him love Hubert more. A task that should have been impossible, yet here he was. “I need to hear your words, my darkness.”

Hubert half scoffs, half laughs. “I want to, Ferdinand.”

He trails the hand down Hubert’s chest to the clasp of his jodhpurs as their lips meet again.

* * *

The warm water feels delicious on his sore, aching muscles. Hubert’s clever fingers working on his neck and shoulders feel better. His thumb digs in a little too hard at times but the relief and relaxation after makes it tolerable. Ferdinand finds himself sagging into Hubert’s chest, allowing his head to loll back against Hubert’s shoulder. His eyes drift closed, he breathes in the lavender he associates so strongly with Hubert, and sighs contentedly.

“Happy, darling?”

“Mhm,” Ferdinand vocalizes.

“Good,” Hubert purrs in his ear, placing a kiss just behind it.

“Was I?” Ferdinand pulls back slightly to look at Hubert, his voice hesitant.

Hands slide down his shoulders and along his spine to rest in the dimples at the base of it. Hubert nuzzles into his neck to pepper kisses against it that make Ferdinand light headed from more than the heat. Concerns on whether or not he was…adequate enough for his experienced lover had bothered him and he had to know.

If Hubert said no…Well, it was his first time. He would just have to work at getting better! Ferdinand could talk to Dorothea. Linhardt too. Ask them how to make Hubert feel the indescribable, exquisite pleasure he gave Ferdinand twice that afternoon.

“Answer me, lover. Was I good at…erm…” He waves a hand in lieu of saying the words.

“I love you, Ferdinand. We celebrated our love this afternoon. I’ve never done that before.”

“I thought you said—”

“I’ve shared myself with others, yes,” Hubert says. Ferdinand stiffens. He knows about this, however the thought of Hubert with someone else, especially people that were using him, demanding something of him, bothers Ferdinand more than he knows how to put into words.

Hubert’s hands appear on his hips, rubbing soothing patterns into them. “I’m yours, my sunlight. You know that. Yours.”

 _Am I this easy to read?_ Ferdinand nods, his forehead bashing into Hubert’s nose as he leans in for a kiss. Hubert’s laugh vibrates through his chest, its warmth soothing Ferdinand’s heart.

“With you…it was different. It meant something, and that made everything… _more._ I can’t explain it.” Hubert shakes his head, looking down. “Though I know you will not let it go unless I tell you yes, Ferdinand. You were good. Apparently all that horse riding you do serves a purpose.”

Hubert revealing so much of himself still catches Ferdinand off guard. It would take some getting used to.

As would the growing evidence of their love that he can feel pressing against the curve of his ass.

Ferdinand grinds back, moving his hips slowly against Hubert. “Would you like another demonstration of my riding prowess?”

Instead of answering, the hands on his hips tighten so hard Ferdinand is sure he’ll have bruises in the morning. Hubert pulls Ferdinand hard against him with every thrust up until they are both panting with need. Hubert’s expertise in the field of torture is renowned, but the relentless tease of what Ferdinand wants but is not getting is maddening enough to make him consider giving Hubert answers to any questions he asked.

Only Hubert, though.

Then hands are roaming over Ferdinand’s body. One trails up and down the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, never quite going as high as Ferdinand wants it to. It is a sharp contrast to earlier, where Hubert gave him everything he wanted and more. Even when Ferdinand rocks his hips into the touch, Hubert darts his hand down again. It is tantalizing and frustrating at the same time, yet Ferdinand finds himself enjoying it. He moans, half from pleasure, half from annoyance.

Hubert’s other hand traces the lines of hard muscle up his torso. This is unexplored territory, the sensations entirely new. _Will Hubert always find ways to make it feel new?_ His hand splays over the hard muscle of Ferdinand’s chest, kneading at it in a manner that sends an unexpected shiver down his spine. Ferdinand knew it could be pleasurable for women, but never imagined he would enjoy it too. The surprise must be evident on his face. Hubert chuckles, dark and low, against Ferdinand’s neck and repeats the action, squeezing a little harder. His body reacts to the touch, arching up into it, until Hubert’s fingers curl into the scar he wears proudly.

“Tss—Hubert, that is sensitive, it still hurts.”

Immediately the hand comes to grab Ferdinand’s face instead, turning it towards Hubert. His eyes are the darkest Ferdinand’s ever seen them. The darkness almost swallows the pale green he adores, almost swallows him as he stares into it.

“Turn around.”

The simple order in such a low, commanding voice feels like a stroke to his neglected cock. Ferdinand pivots easily, straddling Hubert’s thighs. He is rewarded by the drag of Hubert’s erection against his own. A needy whine falls from his lips, and Ferdinand is once again rewarded when Hubert’s large hand envelops his cock. Except _flames,_ Hubert’s is also in his hand. Both of them, held together in Hubert’s tight grip. He twitches in anticipation.

Hubert tilts his head up until their lips brush, choosing that moment to deftly stroke them both. Ferdinand’s hips cant up into him instinctively, chasing the pleasurable feeling.

“Now now, Ferdinand. Even I know that’s appalling posture for riding. Sit up straight, there’s a good boy.”

Again Ferdinand obeys eagerly, desperate to please Hubert, to show him he can be good, to hear Hubert say it again. Hubert chases the space he makes between them, leaning forwards to deposit hot, open mouthed kisses on Ferdinand’s neck. His breath on the wet spots feels delectable—there’s something about the closeness that makes his skin tingle. He gasps as teeth graze against his neck. _“I don’t bite,”_ echoes in his head, words spoken long ago.

Ferdinand wishes he would.

Hubert pulls back immediately. So attentive to Ferdinand’s body, to his needs. Every time he ignores it is clearly deliberate, Hubert exercising his need for control over every situation. Ferdinand finds he does not mind. “You do not bite, Hubert.”

“Of course, darling. I’m sorry, I won’t—”

“What if I want you to?” Ferdinand’s voice comes out thick with lust. He is finding it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. It all feels so good, but something is missing. In truth, he has thought about this often. Hubert’s teeth nipping playfully at his neck and lower lip. Deep, teeth shaped bruises left on his body for days because Hubert lost control in the throes of his pleasure. He whimpers again in anticipation as Hubert’s lips brush against his neck, searching for the right place.

Hubert pumps his hand around the both of them, building rhythm and speed. Each stroke feels like velvet, adding to the haze in his brain. Yet, he will not be distracted! “Hubert, bite m— _ungh.”_ Ferdinand groans as Hubert’s teeth sink into the soft flesh of his neck. It feels better than it has any right to, better than he imagined. Each one sends shocks down his spine. Hubert’s technique is unique. He sucks as he bites, then licks the marks he makes. After, he brushes against the sensitive skin with his lips. Ferdinand melts under Hubert’s devotion.

He has never felt so cherished, so desired. So looked after. So whole.

Ferdinand loses himself like this, safely in Hubert’s loving arms, those clever fingers tight around them both. Each flick of Hubert’s wrist adds to the molten pleasure building in his gut, bringing them closer together. Hubert’s lips trail lower, down the column of Ferdinand’s neck to pepper kisses along his collar bones.

Continuing his path down, Hubert reaches the silvery indent peeking through the coppery hair on Ferdinand’s chest. His scar is dangerously close to his heart, not that Ferdinand had thought about it when he charged in to protect Edelgard in 1183. Ferdinand shivers again from a mix of the animalistic growl he feels claw its way out of Hubert’s throat and the sensitivity of his scar tissue. He threads a hand into the short hair at the back of Hubert’s neck and tugs, but that just emboldens him. Hubert traces the inch and a half mark with his tongue, brushes his lips back down it, then licks up over and over again. Ferdinand can tell it affects him. Hubert strokes them faster, but lavishes the scar with more attention—kisses and licks both. Ferdinand indeed has to put his riding skills to use when Hubert starts rutting hard into his hand, almost bucking him half out the bath.

Each drag of friction is intoxicating. The warm water lets them glide over each other effortlessly, pushing Ferdinand closer and closer to the edge of a cliff he is no longer afraid to fall off, because he knows Hubert will be there to catch him.

And then Hubert whispers “I love you” against his skin and pushes Ferdinand over the edge with a cry, sending him lurching forwards into the waiting darkness as he spills into the water. Hubert follows soon after with a grunt.

Ferdinand is too boneless to be disappointed Hubert did not bite into his shoulder at the peak of his climax. There would be other times.

They cling to each other, Hubert’s nose brushing over his. Slowly, their pants ease into more regular breathing.

“If you didn’t want another weakness, you should have been swifter in battle. Don’t get hurt again,” Hubert pants at him, fingers tracing the scar again. Genuine fear cuts through the post-orgasm haze in his eyes.

It is not a promise Ferdinand can keep. He knows Hubert knows this. But it is a sentiment he understands. A sentiment that he echoes. He cannot promise to remain uninjured but he can swear on the void, on the darkness, that he will do what he can to ensure they both survive the war. Hubert murmurs something similar, swearing on the light of the sun, before Ferdinand cups Hubert’s face and kisses him softly until the water goes cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go tell [Gladdy](https://twitter.com/gladdybug/status/1376229195697827854) you love their artwork bc it is STUNNING they did such a great job brining these two scenes to life.
> 
> Rainbow: They've come so far from even just a year ago, and SO far from five years ago. I would like to personally thank each and every one of the people who bullied El into the bath sex scene; I am forever in your debt. Jayy, El, and I got very into Hubert licking Ferdinand's scar in the planning stages and I'm so glad we did. 
> 
> El: Ugh this chapter was a whole bunch of emotional work to write but I'm v happy with where it ended up. They're in love UwU. Fun fact, this chapter was entirely this horny without the smut pay off to start. I'd hate me too. If you read Seeing Triple and were wondering WTF the detail about the spoon was...we were working on this at the time and the spoon idea (inspired by Welsh Love spoons) was too adorable not to include.
> 
> Next time, on Quercus...  
> Actions - Things are done  
> Promises - Things are said  
> Also there's a ton of smut


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